When The World Ends
by Kayy716
Summary: When the world ended, Harleigh was faced with many hard decisions right out of the gate. What she had hoped to be an easy escape for herself and her two children turned deadly only months into the apocalypse, but what followed afterwards was so much worse. One bad decision after another led her to a group she would come to love, a group she would risk everything to help save.
1. Prologue

**When The World Ends**

 _Full Summary: When the world ended, Harleigh was faced with many hard decisions right out of the gate. What she had hoped to be an easy escape for herself and her two children turned deadly only months into the apocalypse, but what followed afterwards was so much worse. One bad decision after another led her to a group she would come to love, a group she would risk everything to help save._

 _When the world ends, it all comes down to survival. Some will prevail, others, will not._

* * *

 **A/n – When The World Ends is a revision and combination of Behind Brick Walls and The Outbreak, two of my older fan-fics that were never truly finished. Having reread them recently, I also noticed quite a few inconsistencies with them that bothered me horribly. Therefore, if you've been following me over the years, yes, a lot of it is rewritten, copied, etc, however, the overall story lines are changing quite a bit, as I've hoped to have grown as an author since I wrote both stories back nearly five or so years ago. Reviews are greatly appreciated and they help fuel the fire, kicking my butt into gear to keep powering out chapters!**

* * *

They say death is easy, that living is the hard part. After everything we have seen and encountered, after what we have been forced to do just to survive, I couldn't agree more. Death would have been welcomed, it would have provided a calm, compared to what I've had to endure to get this far.

When news of the outbreak finally reached us, my family and I were prepared. My uncle was a dooms day prepper. He had everything from a huge stash of weapons, to a year's worth of canned goods, to various medical supplies and other surpluses that he had managed to obtain throughout the years, much of which was thanks to my late husband's connections with the military. Beyond that, my uncle was also a skilled hunter and a very crafty man who never stopped at anything when it came to creating something useful from other people's trash.

My husband was killed in Iraq a year prior to the outbreak, leaving me a widow and a single mother to our two children. My son, Jake, who was just shy of seven and my daughter, Brooklyn who was just shy of four. Much like myself, Jake had just learned to hunt the winter before. He wasn't much good but he enjoyed it, I think he really just enjoyed my uncle teaching him what he knew. It was a skill my uncle passed down to me, and I to him. We never thought we would have to use those skills to survive, and while I always took pride in my yearly kills during hunting season, we never had to rely heavily on the meat. As time passed we learned just how important those skills were.

When the media finally started to tell people to bunker down, there was a lot of chaos outside of our southern Georgian home. We lived in a poor area, a choice we made after my husband's death, so we could be closer to my uncle. We began piling what we could into my van before piling in, only one destination in mind. My uncle, Jimmy, would know what to do, how to survive.

Unfortunately, when we reached his home about an hour's drive away, we were met with a situation I wasn't ready to face. We had been listening to the radio and knew that the dead seemed to be rising. Not the same way they do in horror movies, the dead weren't pulling themselves out of the graves or anything like that, but they were rising. Something like a mutated rabies outbreak. Bites. The infection was being spread through bites.

When I pulled up to the uncle's small shack, I knew something was wrong right away. His dog, Misha, was running loose, her chain dragging heavily behind her. She was a young pup, no more than half a year old. My uncle had bragged about her just a week prior, beyond excited for the kids to meet her. She was supposed to be his hunting dog one day. I knew just by seeing her running amuck, something was terribly wrong.

"Jake, stay put," I called back to my son, my hand touching his knee. He gave me a sad look, but I think even at such a young age, he understood that he had to keep his little sister safe.

I grabbed my rifle, rather, my husband's rifle, and pushed the driver's side door open, my boots crunching the gravel below my feet. I whistled for the dog to come, grateful that my uncle seemed to have gotten some training done with her. I unclipped the heavy chain before patting my seat, signaling for her to jump up. She did so eagerly, hoping over the armrest, nuzzling up next to Brooke who happily started talking to her, oblivious to the dangers that seemed to lurk.

I closed the door before slowly making my way up the rickety pouch, overly aware at how unwelcoming the shack felt. I had spent the better part of my life there, it felt strange for it to feel so unwelcoming.

"Jim? Jim bean, you here?" I called. "Jimmy, it's Kit, where are you?" I called again. Kit was his nickname for me. Said it fit me better than my given name. He was the only one who thought so.

After searching the entire shack, I decided to head down to the bunker, which was located in his basement. As soon as I opened the hatch, I knew something awful had happened. I was greeted by an angry, hungry moan. I stepped back, momentarily frozen at the sight before me. Standing at the foot of the stairs was my uncle, or rather, what was once my uncle. His eyes were red, wide and hungry, his teeth gnashing relentlessly. Then I saw it. His throat was ripped out, blood still pouring from the wound.

"Damn it Jim," I moaned. I leveled the rifle with his head and within a single moment, he was down. I made quick work of scouting the rest of the property, for once grateful that he lived such a solitary life. Deep into the tall grass I located the…the whatever it was that took his life. He had ended it before he himself died. Once I was satisfied that the property was a safe as any, I retrieved my kids from the van.

Together, Jake and I managed to drag my uncle up the stairs, burying him under the maple tree we had planted when I was a little girl. It seemed fitting. My uncle loved that tree, even planned on building Jake and Brooke a treehouse in it one day. Unfortunately, that day would never come.

Once he was laid to rest, Jake and I raided the bunker for anything and everything we could easily carry. We packed as many cases of dehydrated rations as we dared to take, along with ammo and medical supplies. We filled bag after bag until we were at maximum capacity in the large van. We made sure to only take weapons we knew how to use or that we knew would be high demand. Anyone with half a brain would know that medical supplies and weapons would be the biggest things to barter with as time passed. I retrieved my uncle's crossbow, a weapon I had hoped to master one day, along with his entire stash of bolts. Jake grabbed several pistols, including the one I had received for my 13th birthday. We also made sure to grab the long bow that Jim and I had made from scratch for my 16th birthday. The bow was my weapon of choice, ever since I was old enough to hunt, I was using a bow. I could shoot a gun as good as any, but my weapon of choice was always my bow. The last piece of weaponry we made sure to retrieve was the beautifully crafted sword my father had given me the night my mother died. The sword was a family heirloom. My grandmother was a firm believer that a mother should know how to wield a weapon and how to protect her kin, no matter what the cost. The sword had been in the family for several generations, passed from one woman to the other, until it finally reached me and would one day belong to Brooke. My grandmother would have been proud if she could see how far we've come.

My father was a different story. He was a cruel man who didn't deserve to live. When my mother died when I was 13, I spent the remaining years of my childhood learning everything I could from my uncle, until I had Jake shortly after I turned 18. When I married my late husband on my 21st birthday, Jimmy had told me over and over how I was making a mistake. My husband wasn't much better than my father had been, but he was the father of my son and at the time, I was pregnant with my daughter. Even after a decade since my father died, I couldn't shake the damage he had done and how it affected me even in my adult years.

I shook the thoughts from my mind as my son and I loaded the last bits into the van before pulling down the long gravel driveway, sparing only a short glance at the home that I had come to treat as my own for so many years.

What was a single mother of two young children to do at the end of the world? Run. Run as fast as she could and hope that there was somewhere safe out there.

* * *

So much had changed since the news of the outbreak first broke. The group we had first linked up with had fallen apart within a month or two. In the process, I had lost both of my children when we were overran by a herd that seemed to go on forever. We lost most of our group that day, the survivors unanimously agreeing it was the only way. We had all been devastated that day. For the next ten or so months I took to the woods, only moving my van when absolutely necessary. I had managed to keep it pretty well hidden whenever I went out to hunt and when I wasn't, I was using it as a base. While I ran into a couple groups from time to time, most were easy to fend off, especially if I offered whatever I could just for them to leave me be.

Misha had come a long way in the time that had passed, becoming a faithful and fearless companion. After the death of Brooke and Jake, I had made up my mind that I wouldn't rely on a group again. Trusting people…relying on someone else to have your back, attitudes like that got you killed.

So imagine my dismay when I stumbled upon an angry looking man stalking the same deer I was. I was tucked between two bushes, completely hidden from his view when I spotted him. Misha was at my side, her belly to the ground, her teeth bared though her growl was silent. While I noticed how alert his eyes were before I noticed anything else, right after I noticed the crossbow he was carrying. He had it slung carelessly over his shoulder, preoccupied with the hunt. I was forever grateful that I had parked the van far from where I was hunting. He wouldn't have spotted it if he wasn't looking for it. The man, he seemed to be a seasoned hunter, I could tell simply by his stance. He was a natural tracker. I would have been curious if I hadn't see so much horror in the few months since leaving the shack.

The truly unfortunate part was we were both tracking the same deer. His arrow had embedded itself deep into the animal's side, but it wasn't a kill shot and the poor thing was still fighting like hell. As I admired the beautiful creature, my stomach growled. I couldn't remember the last time I ate anything, having lost all of the consumable stock I had originally gathered. I was lucky to have much of anything left after the last group that stumbled upon me took damn near everything from me just to keep me alive.

That deer, that beautiful, wounded deer was mine. That was my game. I had seen it first.

Misha growled at my side, her stance tensing as the scent of the deer hit her nose again. We'd learned to make quite a good team over the last year. While Misha wasn't a perfect dog, she definitely had a natural talent for hunting. We both watched in dismay as the man approached _my_ dear. Misha growled again, this time getting to her feet.

My hunger pushed me forward, despite my head telling me it was far from safe. I leveled my bow and let an arrow loose. It whizzed through the bushes, embedding itself into the trunk of a tree, directly above the man's head with a satisfying _thunk_. The man jerked around, his icy eyes scanning the woods for the source of the arrow. I smiled to myself, basking in the glory of being well hidden. From where he stood, there was no way he would spot me. I knew these woods like the back of my hand, I knew every turn, every overturned tree, every small cave or hidden stream. I was born for this.

His stance proved just how much skill he had. He circled carefully, making no sound at all. He had forgotten the deer he was tracking. I, however, had not. I took the shot without a second thought, ending the deer's painfully short life, my arrow embedding deeply into its skull. I let out a low chuckle that only Misha could hear before I slowly moved from where I hid. I closed the gap between us, still unseen by the mysterious man.

"Who's there?" He called out. His thick Georgian accent was so familiar, the southern drawl reminding me so much of my uncle. He had the stance of a redneck who had been kicked too many times as a kid, gruff and dirty, with only the slightest hint of something more in his icy blue eyes. Something about this man made me feel safe enough to give up my hiding spot. I stepped out of the bushes. There was nothing he could do to me that hadn't already been done. Except kill me, and that would have been welcomed in a way.

"Don't even think about shooting that thing," I said quickly, my hands raised, my bow carefully balanced in one hand. Misha growled protectively, her thick black fur standing on end. "You even think about it and my dog here will tear your throat out."  
"That how you greet all people?" the man asked. His eyes flickered with the slightest hint of amusement.  
"Only the one's wielding a crossbow and a half ass concealed knife," I countered. "Mind lowerin' that thing so I can get my arrows back?"  
"You killed my deer," he muttered almost comically. He lowered the crossbow. I would have found his expression amusing if I hadn't been so hungry. The deer was taunting me.  
"T'was mine long 'fore it was yours," I said sourly as I retrieved my stray arrows, slipping them back into my holder with little concern that my back was to the strange man. "Been tracking her for a few nights now."  
"Took ya this long to kill it?" he snorted, clearly underestimating my hunting ability.  
"Naw, t'was hoping it would lead me to the rest of the herd," I shrugged. "Winter's fast approaching, was hoping to stock up on meat before the frost set in."  
He gave me a doubtful look followed by a question I got quite a few times. "You plannin' on living in the woods all winter?"  
"Prolly," I said with a shrug. I ran my fingers through Misha's fur, overly aware that she was still tense, her fur standing on end. "Ain't got nowhere else to go." I glanced at the doe at my feet. She wasn't a big one but she would definitely get me through a month or so. "You got a group or somethin'?"  
"What's it to ya?" his gruff tone showed he was now wary of me. Too many questions for his liking I suppose.  
"If ya do, take the doe with ya," I shrugged. "I can find another one, 'sides, I got my dog. We'll track rats or somethin' this winter if I gotta."

I started back the way I came, leaving the doe on the ground, knowing he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to take it with him Even when the man called after me, I ignored him and kept walking, covering my trail as I went. I gave Misha a knowing look before we split up, her running one way, me climbing a nearby tree, just like we always did when we didn't want to be tracked. Our tactic worked, the man made no move to follow us.

When I made it to the van with no disturbances, I was grateful for the silence. It brought with in a great calm that I had been missing. I wasn't a talker, I didn't like running into folks. My blissful silence was soon cut short by the nearby growling and moaning of biters. I heard people shout in the distance. They sounded like they were in trouble. Before I could really think about what I was doing, Misha and I took off running, following the sounds easily through the trees. For whatever reason, both of us were itching for a fight.

What we came face to face with would disturb me for the rest of my life. Looking back, if I knew then what I know now, I would have trusted the hunter and followed him, rather than run to the rescue of the people who were screaming like maniacs, their calls echoing off corner of the forest. That was my biggest mistake, the first of many I would make. Why did I try to play hero, knowing that in this world, the hero always dies?


	2. Chapter 1 - Strangers

Misha ran beside me, her footfalls barely audible over the cries of whomever we were running to help. I darted through the trees, my bow was gripped firmly in my hand, an arrow already loaded, ready for whatever trouble we were running towards. When we reached the small clearing, my stomach dropped. Misha let a vicious growl slip through her lips as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. A large herd of undead were swarming, their jaws gnashing, their arms outstretched. Misha started snapping, her hate for these creatures deeply embedded into her mind. I held her collar firmly as we watched on in horror. We were well hidden, tightly pressed together behind a thick bush, we were still away from the crossfire.

Much to my amazement, there was a small group of people, real, breathing humans, trying to ward off the herd. There were a good thirty undead to their five. They were horribly outnumbered. A woman was sobbing, a young child cradled close to her body. A man with a firm, grim expression was shooting at the creatures, his face masking all emotion. Another man, one with only one hand, was warding them off with what seemed to be a prosthetic knife-like hand. I was taken aback by the drive and skill that man had. A third was standing nearby, his knives slashing at the undead with nothing but hate blazing in his eyes.

Every fiber in my body, my natural instinct, everything told me to flee to the safety of my van. That I had to go back and find food like I was originally doing before I stumbled upon the strange crossbow wielding redneck. My head told me that this group was doomed. Even with their skills, they couldn't possibly get out alive. My heart won the fight though, causing me to push onwards, releasing Misha's collar, allowing her to speed into the thick of it. The pup took off, growling and snapping, launching herself at the undead. She tore into their skulls like they were prey rather than the other way around.

Misha was clad in a thick, bulletproof vest. It was something I was grateful I had looted and modified after I lost my children. I never took it off her. It was rigged with sharp studs which more times than not aided in bringing the undead down to her level, allowing her a clean shot to their skulls and throats. She also wore a thick, wide collar that protected her throat from threats, despite the thick fur that lined her entire body. Misha had become my only ally and friend in all of this and I did whatever I could to protect her. While she had taken a bite or two in the past, dogs seemed to be immune to whatever this disease was and they weren't any threat at all to her wellbeing, as long as she managed to get out alive.

I waited patiently for Misha to clear a path for me to use to get to the woman's side. She cried out in horror as one of the undead grabbed her just before I could reach her, sinking it's teeth deep into her throat, ending her before she had a chance to react. I fought back a gag as I pulled the child from her arms, her body now nestled as close to mine as possible. The little girl's wide, blue eyes were filled with fear as I clipped my bow to my back before producing my family's sword. I slashed at anything that got too close. Each time I swung the blade, I did so with precision and skill, the blade never faltering despite the chaos that unfolded around me.

I soon found myself back to back with the one handed man, his breath coming in hash gasps, his burly body pressed tightly against mine.

"Your friend done went and rang the dinner bell," I growled, motioning to the man who was blowing off shot after shot like they were nothing. I took only a moment to readjust my posture, the child hindering my usual speed and stance, but I didn't consider setting her down for even a moment.  
"I know," he huffed. He looked tired. "Who are you?"  
"Not important," I shot back quickly. "What's important is getting out of this mess alive."  
"No shit," he spat. We turned in perfect unison, using one another to keep the other alive. We cleared as many undead away as we could, making a path through the thick of it all. We reached the trees before the other two men did, but they were close behind us.

"Hey kid, I need you to hold on tight, alright?" I said to the little girl who was clinging to me for dear life. I felt her nod her head slightly. I let a low whistle slip through my lips, calling Misha back to me. She bounded towards me, panting heavily, her thick fur caked in mud and blood.

"Van, now," I commanded her. She let out a low bark before taking off through the trees, towards where the van was parked.  
"C'mon!" I shouted to the other men. To my surprise, they followed me, jumping over roots and bushes, our paces never slowing as we neared the van. Once it came into view, Misha slowed down, her instincts kicking in. She had been trained to protect the van and now, she was ready to kill the men we just helped save. She growled viciously, her ears perked, her tail low. Each growl grew in anger, making her look more like a wolf than ever.

"Easy Meesh," I said softly, "They're human." I let my hand fall to her head before letting the little girl finally out of my arms. She sank to her knees, sobbing bitterly, her tiny body trembling both from free and exhaustion. Her auburn hair was matted in places, dirt and blood and grass tangled into each curl. I took a few much needed breaths before I looked up at the group in front of me.

"Who are you?" the man with one hand asked me again.  
"Harleigh," I said carefully. I tossed my sword to the ground, the adrenaline wearing off quickly, the exhaustion setting in faster than it should have. "Who are you all?"  
"Merle," the man offered before nodding at the other two. "That's Martinez and over there is the Governor, don't know who the kid is, we was tryin' to save her and her ma back there."  
"The Governor?" I cocked an eyebrow. "Seriously? What is this, dungeons and dragons?" I wasn't impressed. The man who called himself the Governor was the one who rang the dinner bell back there. Merle chuckled at my response, but the Governor didn't look even the slightest bit amused.  
"Why'd ya help?" he spat angrily. He kept looking me up and down, trying to get a read on me, trying to see what I was capable of. I was used to it. Men always thought I was too tough for a girl my size.  
"Heard the woman scream," I said with a shrug. "The way I was raised, you don't leave no one behind."  
"She's got skill, Governor," the other man, Martinez, said softly. "We could use someone like her in Woodbury."  
"Woodbury?" I asked, rising an eyebrow. "You got a town or somethin'?"  
"Or somethin'," he shrugged.  
"C'mon, I saved your sorry asses," I reminded him with a shake of my head. "Be a shame to have ta feed y'all to the undead after all that."  
"You wouldn't," Merle scoffed.  
"Don't test me," I growled, my stance shifting to that of interest to that of a skilled, fast huntress. My uncle always said if looks could kill, I'd have killed a hundred men.  
"Yeah, we've got a town," The Governor said. "A _real_ safe place. You got yourself a group?"  
"No," I frowned. "Just me and my dog." I looked down at the little girl who was watching me with sad eyes. "And this here girl I suppose."  
"You're welcomed to join us," he said. His eyes sparked with something I couldn't quite place. "We sure could use someone like you around."  
"Are your people…" I considered how to phrase my question. "Do you allow people to come and go freely?"  
"Naturally," he nodded. He seemed so sincere I couldn't help but believe him, even though his tone, his eagerness still troubled me. "We don't hold no one prisoner.

I considered my options. On my own, I could have survived the winter with little to no food. With a little girl in tow, it only made sense to take this group up on their offer. I needed to rest anyway. The months of traveling, hunting, retracing my steps, it had all worn thin on me. My body, my mind, my spirit, they all needed a chance to heal before I made my way back into the woods, especially now that I had a child to consider.

"Just till winter passes," I finally nodded. "Then me and this girl here will be taking our leave."  
"Didn't take you for the motherly type," Merle sneered. His tone bothered me.  
"Lost my kids a while back," I muttered. My tone dripped with emotion. "This 'un needs me so that's that."

I knelt beside the little girl, facing her so we were on the same level. I brushed the tears from her cheeks before asking her what her name was.

"A-Alana," she said softly, her face pale from all the crying. When I asked how old she was, she told me she was six.  
"Well Alana, we're gonna keep your real safe, ya hear?" I told her, facing myself to smile. She looked at me with nothing but fear, until Misha pushed her head into the girl's arms. "That there is Misha, she's real good with kids, and even better at keeping people safe."  
"Really?" Alana squeaked, pulling the dog in for a hug.  
"Really, really," I said softly. She nodded her head, her little hands reaching for my neck. I pulled her in for a hug, not caring that these strangers were taking in the entire moment. The time for worry had passed, if even for a moment. I stood, taking Alana's hand in mine.  
"You lot on foot?" I asked the men who were staring at me awkwardly.  
"Yeah," Merle grunted. "Why?"  
"Get in," I motioned towards the van. Once Alana was buckled into the back seat, I pulled the front door open, motioning for Misha to get in. She did so, throwing a look at the men who all stared at me with a bewildered expression. "In the back," I said with a shake of my head.  
"Ah, shoot, can I have shotgun, Kitten?" Merle asked, trying to keep his voice innocent.  
"Not a chance in hell, hillbilly," I snarled. I moved my most prized weapons to the front of the van, hidden beneath the front seat. I waited patiently for the men to all get in before turning the key in the ignition, eager to get the hell out of there. When the van purred to life, I told Merle to give me directions, as I wasn't familiar with anything past the five mile radius I had been using in the most recent months.

As soon as the walls came into sight, I found myself envious of the town these people had created. The walls seemed strong, guards watching for the undead at all times. The thought of safety popped into my head for the first time since it all began. I found a smile crossing my face. If only I knew back then what horrors lied beyond those gates. I would have high tailed out of there without a second thought.


	3. Chapter 2 - Behind The Walls

When the Governor led Alana and I to the small house that would serve as our home, the first thing I did was strip out of my worn, tattered clothing and take a long, hot shower. I could hear Misha romping back and forth through the front of the house through the steady sound of the water pelting off my skin. Alana was giggling happily, letting me know it was safe to spend a few extra moments enjoying something as simple as indoor plumbing for the first time in what felt like forever.

It took some time to scrub the dirt and blood from my skin. The dirt had covered a lot of the scars that riddled my skin both from recent times and those that were long forgotten from before. I smiled in spite of myself, the warm water soothing the tension that had set into my muscles and made the doubt vanish along with it.

While I washed my short, dark hair, I felt the tender spot on my head. I had gotten into quite a mess when I was with our first group, a scouting trip gone wrong that resulted in me taking a nasty blow to the head when I felt twelve feet out of a tree. Even after so much time the effects of the fall still lingered. I suffered from awful headaches that often times left me completely useless. I also routinely suffered from dizzy spells that made me sick to my stomach. I never let it slow me down though. This wasn't a world for the weak or injured.

After the vast majority of the dirt and grime was washed away, I stepped out of the shower, pulling a warm towel around my thin frame. I dried off quickly, eager to check on the little girl, even more so to get her cleaned up too. I pulled on the jeans and thick sweatshirt the Governor had brought by, though they hung off me like rags, they were warm and weren't riddled with holes. After I pulled my hair back, I laced up my old boots, grateful for the fact that they held up as well as they had. Once done, I hurried into the front of the house to find Alana sitting on the floor, Misha's big head in her lap as she gently stroked her head, telling her about her life with her mom.

"Hey, kiddo, let's get cleaned up, okay?" I said gently, trying not to startle her. She looked up at me with excited eyes, gently nudging Misha off her lap. I smiled and helped her take a warm, long bath before changing her into clean clothes and wrapping her up in an old, worn afghan. She curled up on the sofa with a book while I turned to Misha.

"Meesh, time for a bath," I said softly. The dog jumped up, clearly eager to get the dirt and blood off her coat. I lifted her into the bathtub, my back aching from her weight. Despite being a young, female dog, she was soundly built and her weight proved that she still had a lot of growing to do. It took me nearly two hours to finally free all of the mats and grime from her coat, but once she was clean, I got a chance to admire how beautiful the dog had become.

She was a shepherd mix, with long, black fur, speckled with patches of white and grey. Her eyes were dark, rimmed with light grey patches that made her look even more stunning. Her face and forelegs were riddled with scars from hunting and taking down the undead, but she was strong, her stance was that of a true hunting dog. She was my pride and joy and in a way, the only reason I was still alive.

Once everyone was clean and fed, Alana and I settled on the old, ratty sofa, a story book spread between us as we read for hours. Misha laid at our feet, keeping guard. I was in the middle of a sentence when the door flew open, causing me to jump to my feet, one hand protectively pressing Alana as far back on the sofa as possible, my other freeing my pistol from my boot. Misha growled, pressing her body against my leg, her body tense and ready. Misha let out an angry snarl as soon as the figure came into view.

"What?" Merle grumbled, his tone dripping with annoyance. "Mutt don't like me, huh?"  
"She doesn't take to strangers," I said coolly. "What'cha want, Merle?"  
"The Governor's askin' for ya," he said with a smirk. "I'll watch the rugrat for ya."  
"Not a chance," I said with one hand protectively sliding behind me to take hold on Alana's wrist. "I'll bring her with me."  
"Suit yourself," he shrugged, turning to lead the way. I pulled Alana to her feet, one hand still protectively holding her wrist. Misha let out another growl, causing me to pounder at what could have her so riled up. She normally wasn't this angry. Misha didn't like strangers, but she wasn't a high strung dog, her behavior bothered me. It made me wonder if we were safe here in Woodbury afterall.

Merle muttered a few choice words before leading us through the streets, where the Governor and Martinez were standing, oblivious to our arrival until Merle cleared his throat.

"Ah, Harleigh, seems you have made yourself comfortable!" The Governor chimed, eyeing me up and down. If I didn't know any better, I would have sworn his tone dripped with sarcasm.  
"Yeah, sure," I muttered. I tried to keep my tone friendly, but I had a raging headache and just wanted to know what he wanted. It didn't help that I hadn't spent much time around people in a long time. All the idle chatter was making me nervous.  
"We're having a meeting tonight," he said with a smirk. "Was wondering if you'd care to join us?" His tone seemed friendly enough, but it struck me as odd that he wanted me there.

* * *

In the four months to follow, I spent the vast majority of my time in Woodbury training in countless forms of warfare. From honing my skills with my sword, to improving my technique with my bow, along with several weeks of training in hand to hand. Merle helped me train a lot, he said I was the first woman in Woodbury to give him a run for his money. I also spend a lot of time patrolling the wall, going on runs with some of the Governors best men, and just about anything else to keep my mind busy and to pull mine and Alana's weight.

Alana, who was very bright for being only six, took a shining to the local kids and came out of her shell completely. She was no longer a shy, scared little girl. She took to calling me momma, no matter how many times I corrected her. Once I learned how smart she was, I started teaching her to shoot a small handgun, one that weighed almost nothing and was easy to use. My theory was if she could shoot, at least she would be able to protect herself should something ever happen to me.

Even Misha managed to make friends. When we were out on a week long run, she picked up two strays who have since become a huge part of our technique and plan whenever we had to go on a more dangerous outing. The smaller of the two, a terrier mix who stood about the height of Alana's knees, I deemed Scout, due to her ability to get into tight places undetected. She was our secret weapon when trying to navigate tight areas. The larger dog, a strong, stoic shepherd of some sort was named Blade. He came to my waist, very large for a dog as young as he seemed to be. He was the hunter of the trio, surpassing Misha in her skills in countless ways. While the Governor was not pleased that I added two more dogs to my pack, but once he saw their skill he let the matter drop, realizing that dogs might be the answer to some of our bigger problems down the road.

Dr. Steven's was going on and on one evening while I sat in the infirmary, her fingers flipping through pages of an old notebook she always seemed to keep on hand. I had wound up in the infirmary after I collapsed after a less than favorable afternoon.

"The fact that you aren't dead right now says a lot," she said, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Traumatic brain injuries are not something most just bounce back from. You said you got injured over a year ago?"  
"Yeah, fell a good twelve feet out of a tree," I shrugged. "It's just a migraine, Doc, I'm fine."  
"Do you recall how long you were out for when it happened?" she asked, feeling the tender spot on my head. It made me cringe.  
"A week and a half," I said slowly. "We had a doctor in the group at the time. He said I was lucky I woke up at all, but that the side effects were minimal compared to what some folks go through."  
"He was right, but your migraines concern me. God, what I would give for a MRI machine right now," she sighed. "How often do you suffer from migraines?"  
"Maybe once or twice a week, give or take," I said. "The dizzy spells are worse in the morning, but they fade quickly. I swear, today was a first."  
"Could it have been because of the amount of stress you were under?" she asked calmly. She was more than aware of what went on behind the walls that kept Woodbury safe. Woodbury was safe from the biters, but not the men that resided within the walls.  
"Probably," I shrugged, recalling what had happened over the last few months.  
"I reckon you'll be fine then," she nodded. "Rest here until you feel strong enough to move," she continued. She looked at my troubled expression and spared a small smile. "I'll send someone to retrieve Alana for you. Now rest."

My mind wandered to just how awful Woodbury really was. There weren't many rules, even less for the men that walked the streets. I had lost count of how many times I had been grabbed, dragged into a dark, damp corner of the town and raped until I had no fight left in me. This kept happening for the better part of our stay there.

Martinez and the rest of the Governor's soldiers showed no remorse, even when Merle, the last person I would have expected, told them to shape up and knock it off. I stopped caring eventually. I stopped fighting. I grew numb, just as I had all those years ago with my father and husband. Eventually the numbness became natural.

I tried to drown out the thoughts, but when the Governor sent for me, causing Alana to wake me up from my restless slumber, I had already made my mind up. I told one of the neighbors who had children around Alana's age to keep an eye on her as I made my way down the narrow street, finding the Governor with several other men, two woman huddled between them. The first was a sickly blonde, the other, a fierce, dark woman who looked like she could take on the world alone. The latter of the two looked at me with troubled eyes. I could tell she didn't want to be there. I couldn't blame her. I didn't want to be there either.

"Harleigh!" one of the men roared as I came into sight.  
"Marco," I nodded.  
"Gov wants you to keep watch of these two," he said with a sick grin. "Don't let 'em leave."  
"That's right," The Governor seemed to purr. "Keep these two nice and safe, wouldn't you?"  
"Alright…" I didn't like this one bit. Something seemed completely off about the whole situation. The men moved the woman into one of the nearby buildings, locking the door behind them.

I called for my dogs, who flaked my every move while I paced the front of the building, trying to formulate a plan. As the pack had learned to flake my movements and follow my commands, the attacks were fewer and farer between. These men here were cowards, they were afraid of the small pack that had proven to be ever loyal companions.

While I watched the sun cross the sky, I came up with a plan. I needed out. Woodbury was far worse than I ever could have imagined, and I didn't want to stick around to see how much worse it could get. I wanted out. No, I needed out. As I paced, I found myself remembering my first attack. Not even a week after arriving in Woodbury, I got a taste of just how monstrous these men could be.

" _Hey, Kitten," one of Merle's men called, his slur indicating that he was drunk. "C'mere, pretty girl."  
"Beat it, Ryan," I snarled as I quickly made my way through the streets.  
"Oh, lookie here, Martinez! This lil' slut has some spark to 'er!" he growled, following after me.  
"Bettcha she can fight too," Martinez chuckled. I glared at the men, my heart racing in my chest. I had seen this happen before. _

_Without warning, I was laid out on the ground, being dragged by my hair to the building closest to us. I fought and fought but it was hopeless. In his drunken stupor, Ryan was stronger than I was, and thanks to the Governor stripping me of all my weapons, I was defenseless. Three men held me down while Ryan, a cruel, heartless man, did to me what no man had ever done before. He punched me square in the jaw, causing me to recoil as stars clouded my vision. He used that as an opportunity to stripe me of my clothing while the other men kicked and punched at me like I was a wounded animal left for dead. It was humiliating._

 _When they were done with me, having had their fun, they left me there, naked, alone and broken, unable to find my feet, unable to find the strength to right myself. Ryan returned moments later with a biter on a grab pole. I tried to scramble to my feet while retrieving my clothes, but my body was trembling too horribly to fully regain my composure. He set the biter on me, laughing as I weakly tried to fight the creature off. He left, thinking it would kill me, but I managed to get the thing to the floor, smashing it's skull with my boot before finally getting my clothes back on._

 _That happened more times than I cared to remember._

My mind was made up. One way or another, I was getting me and Alana out of that place. Before I did, I knew in my heart I had to warn these women. I didn't know who they were, where they came from, or if they were just as dangerous as the Governor's men, but I wasn't stupid. I couldn't stand by and allow that to happen to them too.

"You're thinkin' again," a familiar voice chided, breaking me of my thoughts. I looked up to find Merle standing in front of me, his eyes locked on mine, trying to read my expression. "Thinkin' ain't good for ya."  
"Stuff it," I growled. As much as I appreciated Merle for taking my side every now and then, he was still no better than the other men. He'd beaten me and left me broken, bleeding on the floor just like the others had.  
"Oh, c'mon, Kitten, don't be like that," he chuckled, his tone snide as ever.  
"Stop calling me that," I spat, venom dripping with every word. "I'm good and tired of that stupid nickname!"  
"Okay, okay," he surrendered. He watched me with a curious expression before turning on his heel and briskly walking down the street, no doubt to tell the Governor about my outburst. He always ran to that man with every detail. It was infuriating. But Merle was his good little soldier boy. I had come to expect it.

Later that day, after the Governor finally let the women have a little freedom, I managed to catch Michonne, the dark woman, alone. She was out walking the streets when I found her. I didn't want to startle her, so I let Misha bound ahead of me, her tail wagging happily. When she nudged Michonne's hand, she looked down at her with a dangerous, yet impressive way.

"She's fine," I called softly. Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing with something I couldn't quite place. "Mind if I talk to you?" I asked. She shrugged and motioned for me to follow her. I kept pace quietly for a few moments, my heart racing. This was the first step of my plan.

"Rumor has it you and the blonde, uh…" I started.  
"Andrea," she informed me, her tone bitter.  
"Yeah, her, are headed out soon?" I asked.  
"Yeah," she said shortly.  
"Good." I said slowly, my eyes watching for anyone who could over hear the conversation.  
"Why?" she asked, her tone stiff. She didn't trust people, I could tell by her stance.  
"Get out while you can," I hissed. "Trust me, this place is dangerous."  
"What do you know?" she growled, anger flashing in her eyes.  
"I can't tell you, not here," I said softly. "I'm getting out. Tonight. You'd be wise to do the same."

Without another word, I left her there, in the middle of the road to pounder what I had just told her. I quickly made my way back to the house I shared with Alana, packing what little we had left into our bags. My van had been cleared out the moment we entered the town, but over the course of those four months, I had slowly started gathering back some of my supplies. My weapons in particular, which I had spread out throughout the woods in easy to get to areas that I knew the Governor and his men wouldn't find them. Going out on runs had it's advantages. I had a motorcycle stashed a few miles out, hidden deep in the forest. The bike had been a prize from of the earlier runs, one where the other two I had been with didn't make it back. No one knew the bike existed. I made a mental note to retrieve it as soon as Alana and I had clearance through the trees.

Alana, though she was young, was aware of the plan and agreed with it. While she loved the children she made friends with, the adults scared her. She understood the urgency of the situation. Her backpack carried her few items, which I clipped to Misha's back before I put her collar on. Blade and Scout waited patiently by the door. It was almost as if they knew we were making a break for it.

I didn't leave room for error. I couldn't. It was well into the night when we slipped out of the back door, Alana keeping close behind me as we ran, the dogs flaking us, providing just enough cover for us to stay hidden from the few men that walked the streets. We reached the breach in the wall easily and I took full advantage of the guard's weak spot. I let a flash bomb loose before we dived over the fence, Alana first, then me, the dogs managing to squeeze under the rotten boards. I could hear the panicked cries from the guards but I refused to look back. I picked Alana up, her legs too little to carry her with the speed we needed. We ran full speed into the trees, only stopping once we were certain we had made it out unseen. Scout and Blade fanned out, searching for any dangers, while Misha stuck close to my side, keeping her pace even with mine.

It didn't take long to locate the bike. It was right where I had left it weeks earlier. It was only upon locating it that I finally felt safe. I sat Alana in front of me, one of Misha's old leashes serving as a seatbelt, before kicking the bike to life. I tore through the trees as if the devil himself was after me. It wasn't until I was back in a familiar patch of trees that I took a moment to relax. It wasn't until that moment that I fully took in what had just happened. We got out. We broke free. We were safer than we had been all winter. The early spring air was crisp and clean, and washed over me with a welcomed chill. We were finally free. And that, in and of itself, was enough for me.


	4. Chapter 3 - Survivors

I wasn't entirely sure where I was going or where I hoped to end up. Misha seemed to have a good idea of where she wanted to go, but even she seemed to hesitate from time to time, weaving in and out of trees, circling back, making it more and more difficult to keep track of her. Especially while trying to keep Alana secure in front of me every time I had to let go of the brake to swipe at a biter. After struggling to keep the bike upright through all the roots and debris, I was grateful when she finally led us to a paved road. I looked up at the sky, overly aware that it had to have been at least half a day since we broke free, considering it wasn't even dawn when we left. The sun was warm against our skin, the early spring breeze momentarily causing me to forget that we were in the midst of the end of the world.

I whistled, calling all three dogs in. The bike was overheating from riding for so long and I needed to stretch my legs. Misha whined, but came to my side with no hesitation. Blade limped over, clearly having gotten into a tangle while he was running ahead. After a quick inspection, I could see that he was fine, just a twisted paw. Scout took longer to find us, but when she did, she was carrying a rabbit in her mouth, a satisfied look in her eye. I grinned at the scrawny dog, patting her head in appreciation. I pulled the bike into the bushes, keeping one eye on Alana while I let my other pan over the clearing. We seemed to be safe.

"I'm hungry," Alana said softly, leaning on Blade. Her legs were as numb as mine were from riding for so long. "And sleepy."  
"I'm gonna cook up this rabbit, but we can't stay here too long," I told her gently. "We need to find somewhere safe to hold up for a while. The Governor's going to have a fit when he realizes we broke out."  
"Don't see why," she scoffed. "I just wanna be safe 'gain."  
"I know little one," I said with a tender smile. She came over to me and wrapped her arms around my waist.  
"Think anywhere's safe anymore?"  
"I don't know," I looked up at the clouds floating high above. "Sure hope so."

As I cooked the rabbit, I found myself watching the small pack of dogs who watched me patiently. Misha stood with a true hunting dog's stance, her long fur matted and bloody for the months spent protecting and hunting for her family. Her ears were perked, waiting for my next command. A little ways off, Scout was sniffing the ground, surely looking for something else to bring down for dinner. Or breakfast, whatever meal we were calling it. Her once thick coat was patchy at best, showing many scars, both old and new alike. I tried to imagine her if she weren't a wild dog and had been given the proper care over the years but couldn't. To me, she would always be my scrawny, matted little Scout. Blade, however, was a different story. He stood guard, his head held high as he watched the wind pass through the trees. His long, jet black fur made him look like a lion, the breeze fluffing his fur in an almost majestic way. He had a deep scar running across his face, no doubt from a biter. He showed zero fear for this world. It made me wonder if he was born into it, born into the chaos and disease riddled world we now called home. Maybe he was raised wild. Unlike Scout who always seemed to need a moment to catch up, Blade was able to keep pace with the bike as if it were nothing but another dog. Misha took to both of these dogs as if they were kin and since the beginning, I was grateful for her instincts. These two had been great additions to our little group. All three could hunt both animals and biters alike with little trouble, even Scout, who was as small as could be. With Misha's studded vest and Blade's ability to take down biters with my double bladed half sword in his mouth and Scout's amazing sense of obedience and protective streak when it came to Alana, the pack was the only good thing left in my life.

Next to that little girl. Alana. She had taken to me slowly, but now she looked at me as a mother. She reminded me so much of my children, it wasn't even funny. The way her little arms would wrap around my neck before I put her down for the night, the way her eyes twinkled in the early morning sun. The way she would beg me to sing to her right before she fell asleep. It was the little things that made me grateful for saving her, even if it meant sacrificing my confidence and dignity in the process. At just six years old, she was wiser than most and was learning more each day.

I let Alana eat the scrawny little rabbit before burying the small fire I had built. Just as we were about to set back out, Misha let out a low growl and pounced into the bushes, coming up a moment later with a rabbit in her mouth. I rubbed her head before tying the rabbit to my belt, wondering if the pack could find enough to feed everything. It felt like days since we actually ate anything.

"Good dog, let's hunt," I said softly to the pack, who took off ahead of us, noses to the group. I told Alana to keep close while we followed the trio a little further into the woods. Scout dashed off, eager to scout the area. Misha kept circling back, nudging me with her cold nose. Blade took off into the bushes, his nose pressed to the ground, tracking something we had yet to see.

As we followed the dogs, the hunter in me began to panic. Something wasn't right. I could tell by the tracks in the dirt that this path had been traveled before, recently too. By the snare that was spun, yet vacant in the bushes to my right, I knew something had been hunting in the area recently, but not too recently. Misha's ears kept flicking in an almost cat like way, causing me to wonder what she was following.

Blade was the first to alert me. His loud, panicked barks weren't too far off, only a few hundred feet to our right. Misha took off running, her tail high, as she returned Blade's bark. Scout dashed out of the bushes, almost tripping us in her haste to catch up with her friends. I grabbed Alana's hand and followed behind them, making sure I stayed within reach of trees along the way. I freed my bow from my back, carefully loading it while keeping Alana as close to me as possible. I was ready for a fight if it came to that.

To my surprise, the pack led us to a small clearing. In the distance, just beyond a small creek, I caught sight of something I wasn't prepared for. Tall, chain link fences surrounded the area, biters surrounding it, though fanned out enough to pose little threat. Just beyond the fence sat a prison. I smiled to myself as I took in the sight before me. The prison looked sound. The grounds were not filled with biters, which meant there was a good chance it was secure. I caught sight of people walking around inside. I could tell by their pace, it must have been safe inside those gates. I pulled Alana close, still studying the building before us.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" Alana asked, her eyes widening with fear.  
"Nothing, sweet girl," I replied gently, taking her hand in mine. "The pack done went and found us somewhere to hold up for a while." I guarded my words. There was no telling what these people were like. After Woodbury, I had little trust for mankind left. Regardless, they had something we needed so desperately. They had walls. We needed just a day or two. A chance to make a plan, to map out a route and take to the road. A chance to rest and recover and breathe for a moment. Misha pawed at the ground, eager to get the plan rolling. I took hold of her collar and signaled for her to stay. Blade growled softly before turning tail, heading back the way we came. I think it was his way of telling us not to sit there like waiting ducks.

The pack managed to catch another rabbit and a small fox on their way back to the bike, so before we did anything else, I cooked those up in the hot embers of a barely visible fire. While they cooked, I brushed the tangles out of Alana's hair, braiding it tightly against her skull, doing the same to mine. I twisted the hair so it was pinned to our skulls, ensuring that our hair wouldn't make for an easy meal for a biter. Long hair got in the way when you were running for your life.

Once everyone was fed, I led the way to the bike, carefully pulling the bushes aside. I clipped a backpack to each of the dogs, lessening the weight of the bike, allowing it to be more easy to maneuver. I secured Alana in front of me with an old leash before kicking the bike to life. The loud roar of the motor sent a chill up my spine.

I let out a short, simple grunt, signaling the dogs to take off, their nails digging deeply into the damp spring ground. I followed behind them through the twisting path, the clearing coming into view a moment later.

I had been so eager to get out of the woods that I hadn't taken into account actually reaching the fence. The biters turned tail the moment they heard the bike. Even with the pack breaking off in different directions, barking as loudly as they could, many of the undead were still locked into getting to the loud, annoying motorcycle.

"Hold on tight, Lana," I said softly as I kicked the bike up a notch. I knew we were going too fast. I knew it was too dangerous. I didn't care. In hindsight, maybe I was ready to die. Maybe I was ready to give up. Or maybe, just maybe, I had forgotten how dangerous the world was in the few months we spent at Woodbury, being beaten and abused by living, breathing humans. Maybe that made the biters just a little less scary.


	5. Chapter 4 - Better Off

We were almost there. I couldn't believe it. We were almost past the biters. Almost. I had taken only a moment to toss the sword to Blade, who was now running full speed, cutting them down as he went. Misha was blowing into others, her vest soaked in blood. Alana was sobbing, terrified beyond words. I fought to keep control of the bike, smoke slowly beginning to come out of the motor. Only then did I realize I had missed an important piece of information. The brakes had snapped.

We were going too fast, faster than I even knew the bike was capable of. We were too close. My heart skipped a beat as I struggled to slow the bike down, using biters as speed bumps. It didn't matter, we were surely going to crash.

"Alana, listen to me, I need you to hold onto me real tight, okay?" I said quickly. She nodded, her little arms gripping me for dear life. We were only about a hundred feet from the fence. I could see the men on the other side, weapons raised.

"Meesh, Blade, fan out," I barked as loudly as I could. I couldn't see Scout anywhere in sight and I didn't have time to find her. Once the pair had fanned out, still barking as loud as they could, trying to distract the biters, I did the only thing I could think to do. I veered right, throwing all of my weight to one side. As the bike teetered, I rolled away from it, hitting the ground painfully, Alana tightly gripping to my chest. As soon as we were on the ground I cut the lease loose and told her to run. She did so while I loaded my bow, firing arrow after arrow through the skulls of the biters who got too close to her.

As I stood up, a wave of dizziness hit me like a ton of bricks. Pain rippled down my side, causing me to double over with a soft moan. I felt sick, but my desire to protect Alana overtook and I caught up with her quickly, both dogs covering us, protecting us as best they could.

"Stop!" a gruff voice ordered as soon as we neared the fence. Alana was in my arms now, her body trembling like a leaf. I didn't need to be told twice. I stopped, my heart racing too fast, the pain in my side growing with every gasping breath. The dizziness clouded my vision, making it hard to see clearly.

"Please," I panted as I spun away from a biter, barely keeping Alana safe as I plunged my knife into it s skull. "Please."  
"I know her," another man's voice came. My head snapped up at the snide, thick southern accent. Our eyes locked. There, on the other side of the fence, stood the man with the crossbow. The hunter.  
"Please," I managed to whisper before my knees gave way, just as Blade jumped onto a biter, causing it to land on top of us. I pushed Alana away, holding the biter at bay as it tried to bite my face. I would have died right there and then if the crossbow wielding man hadn't taken his shot. The biter landed heavily on top of me, knocking the wind out of my lungs, leaving me defenseless and breathless on the ground. Blade and Misha dragged it off me just as the fence rattled open. I didn't hesitate to give Alana a shove as I struggled to my feet, both dogs coming to my side the moment I let out a low whistle. I scanned the area, trying to locate Scout, who had been carrying my bag of medical supplies. It was only then that through blurry eyes, I realized she must not have made it. I could see a small herd of biters eating something. My heart sank as the realization hit me.

I turned away and limped through the gate as a young boy, no more than maybe 13, slammed it shut behind me. Alana came to my side instantly, her little arms wrapped around my waist. As soon as the gate shut, I had a gun aimed at my head.

"Start talking," the angry, scruffy man barked. I took several deep breaths, trying to steady myself. The pain in my side was unbearable and the dizziness wasn't helping. I was fighting to keep what little was in my stomach down. I bent over, my hands on my knees. I spit into the dirt, shaking horribly. Misha let out a low growl and moved in front of me, providing me with as much protection as she could. "Start talking," the man growled again.

"Back off, Rick," a new voice growled. I spared a glance up at the man with the crossbow, who was looking at me with both concern and suspicion.  
"Had to get away," I managed to hiss, trying my hardest not to let the pain show in my voice. I tried to stand upright, but the movement sent the pain to ripple with such intensity, I ended up keeled over again, barely able to breathe.  
"She's hurt," an older, wiser voice came. I turned my head only slightly, seeing an elderly man on crutches starting towards me. His eyes showed nothing but concern.  
"Momma?" Alana asked at my side. Her hand grabbed mine and in that moment, all strength left my body. My knees gave way and as I fell, I pulled her into my arms, allowing myself to hug her as tightly as I could. My body was screaming at me and in that moment, I was sure I was going to bleed out and die.  
"Hush Lana, it's okay, I'm okay," I lied. Misha relaxed slightly as the older man came closer.  
"We need to get her inside so I can tend to that wound," he said softly.  
"Absolutely not," the other man, Rick, protested.  
"Rick," the crossbow man said with a growl.  
"Daryl, no. We're not taking anyone else in," Rick growled.  
"Ta hell with that," the other man, Daryl, growled. I felt someone scoop me up, causing Alana to back up hesitantly. He tilted my head so I was facing him. "You're gon' be okay," he told me as he nodded to Alana, who followed silently at his side.

Once inside, Hershel, the older man on crutches, patched my wound in record time. It turned out it was a long, deep slice running from my ribcage all the way to my pelvis. When I explained what had happened with the bike, he nodded knowingly, as if this wasn't the first time he dealt with these kinds of wounds. I had managed to snag myself on my own blade when I threw myself from the bike, how graceful was that? The dizziness lingered but as the adrenaline wore off, it faded too.

While I was being stitched up, I tried to explain what had happened to Rick and Daryl as best I could.

"There's a town, not too far from here, ran by a man who calls himself the Governor," I said softly. My eyes were on Alana, who was sitting across the room, Misha laying protectively at her side, Blade pacing the space between us and the two men.  
"He's a monster of a man," I went on. "What he…what they do to people, it's not right." I spared them the details, briefly explaining what I went through over the winter. "My dog, the bigger one, managed to find the prison. We had no idea how many of you were here."  
"You can't stay, I'm sorry," Rick said with a shake of his head. "We'll give you some supplies and send you on your way, first thing tomorrow."  
"Please," I begged, my heart dropping. In the condition I was in, we wouldn't last long out there. "For the sake of my little girl, let us stay. I'll pull our weight. I can hunt, run for supplies, anything. Alana too. She's young but she's not useless."  
"Rick, I've seen her hunt, she's got skills we can use," Daryl said quickly, cutting Rick off before he could object. I was surprised he had defended me, he didn't look like the most welcoming type. "Besides, we can always use another lookout."  
"No," he growled, his mind made up.

The sound of a young baby crying silenced the conversation. I looked in the direction of the sound, maternal instinct taking over.

"You've got a baby?" I asked, surprised. The youngest children were the first to perish in the new, harsh world.  
"That's none of your business!" Rick snapped, anger rising in his eyes.  
"I can run for formula. Diapers. You're going to need them," I tried carefully. "There's a daycare a few miles out. I can get there and back easily."  
"Not with that hole in your side you won't," Hershel quickly argued. "You need to rest. Getting that infected won't do you an ounce of good."  
"Ain't scare of an infection," I shrugged. "Seen 'lot worse these days."  
"She's got spirit, that's for sure," I heard a new voice chime in. I looked up to see an Asian man walking towards us, his gun level with my chest.  
"Lower that thing 'fore you set it off without meanin' to," I spat. I was fed up with people aiming guns at me.  
"Lower the gun, Glenn," Daryl ordered. I couldn't tell who was supposed to be the leader, Rick or Daryl. It seemed Rick had other concerns and Daryl was trying to fill his place.  
"Glenn, huh?" I asked, the name sounded familiar. I couldn't figure out why, but it did.  
"Yeah, and you are…?" he said, an odd look on his face.  
"Harleigh. Harleigh Johnson," I said softly. I nodded towards Alana, who was cuddling Misha with a content smile on her face. "This here's Alana."  
"She's yours?" Rick asked, his tone completely different now. He was clearly taking in the fact we looked nothing like.  
"Yes and no," I shrugged. I kept an eye on her, something feeling off about the whole conversation. "Her mother was killed by biters the day I ended up with the Woodbury group. Couldn't let a little girl like that go on by herself. She doesn't remember her mother anymore, so she sees me as one and that's how it ought to stay."

Rick nodded to himself, his eyes locking on something we couldn't see, just beyond the cellblock doorway.

"I guess…I guess y'all can stay, for now. But one wrong move and I won't hesitate to put a bullet in your head," he scoffed.  
"Fair enough," I nodded. "One of your men even _looks_ at me the wrong way and I won't hesitate to do the same, understood?" Memories of Woodbury flooded my mind. Daryl seemed to sense the change in atmosphere and came over so he was standing directly in front of me, blocking everything else from my vision.  
"Ain't no one here gon' hurt you or your little girl," he said gently. It seemed so out of character for a man of his standing, a hunter, someone who was not only cut out for this world, but who probably saw some awful shit before the world went to hell, to be comforting a stranger. But he stood there doing so none-the-less For that, I was grateful.

Rick led the way through the cellblock, nodded to a cell at the far end of the block, before walking away. He didn't seem too pleased with letting us stay, but he also didn't seem too mentally stable to begin with so I didn't take offence to his attitude.

After we were left to settle into the cell, I took a moment to look over what little I had managed to save from Woodbury. I had my double bladed short sword which was more or less Blade's weapon, along with my small handgun, my long, sharp sword, and my bow and the few arrows that didn't get lost. All of these I had agreed to hand over, under the agreement that I was allowed to carry my hunting knife. Aside from that, I had meager rations, which I handed over without a care, along with the ammo and small first aid kit that I had shoved in the bag Blade had been carrying. The bag Misha had had what little personal items Alana and I had, along with a change of clothes. My locket from my mother was also in that bag.

After I handed over the agreed upon items to Glenn, who looked almost apologetic for taking them, I sat down on the lower bunk next to Alana, who looked exhausted.

"Hey little one, how ya feeling?" I asked her.  
"Sleepy," she murmured, yawning widely.  
"I bet," I smiled, pulling her close. "Why not try and get some shuteye? We're safe here."  
"Sing to me mommy?" she asked, cuddling as close as she could without leaning too heavily on my cut.  
"Sure," I smiled as I softly sang her a lullaby. She smiled as she fell asleep in my arms. I carefully pulled back the thin sheet and laid her back, her hair flaring out around her face. I smiled and kissed her forehead before leaving the cell, telling Blade to keep watch. The young dog curled up beside Alana, the tension leaving his body.

I walked out into the common room, Misha at my side, limping heavily. I knelt beside her, overly aware that such movement sent pain up my side. I bit back at groan as I inspected Misha's legs and paws. Her bag leg was swollen and raw, but it wasn't broken. She growled at me while I checked her over, but she knew better than to bite the hand that feeds her.

"Lay down," I told her softly. She did so. I lifted the foot again, putting pressure on the swelling. She whined softly as I murmured softly to her, wrapping the paw in a piece of cloth, hoping the pressure would help to take the swelling down. Once her paw was wrapped, Misha seemed to relax a little. "Seems you managed to get yourself in a tangle, huh Meesh?" I said softly, stroking her head. "Gonna have to be more careful from now on."

She looked up at me with knowing eyes before limping back to our cell. A moment later, I heard a sharp yip and Blade came running out of the room, his eyes wide with annoyance. I smirked in spite of myself. Leave it to Misha to bully the large dog.

"C'mon Blade, let's get some practice in," I called to him. He followed me as we weaved our way outside. I earned a few odd looks from the group but I paid them no mind as I led Blade into the prison yard, where I tied a few ropes to a post before nodding to Blade.

"Blade, fan out," I commanded. He let out a low bark before fanning out to my right, then my left in a swift, simple manner. I nodded and charged toward, waiting for the dog to follow. Each step was painful, but I knew he needed the training. He followed me instantly, his pattern never changing, with every ten feet, he'd zig-zag to the other side, fanning in and out like a pro.

"Good," I nodded as I stopped to catch my breath. I tapped the rope with my knife. "Go for the kill!"

Upon the last word of the command, Blade charged forward, using all of his muscles to propel himself into the air, grabbing hold of the rope and shaking it wildly, despite hanging close to five feet off the ground. He growled and growled, tugging the rope with all his strength. He was a born hunter. If I hadn't known any better, I would have sworn he had wolf in him, his stance, his determination, his willingness to follow Misha's commands, he was a true wild dog. Yet he was sweet as can be with Alana, which I was grateful for.

"Release!" he dropped to the ground, his fangs bared, his fur standing on end. "Good boy!" I cooed, rubbing his head. He relaxed under my touch, his tail wagging happily. He was tense and ready to fight still. No amount of training could change the wild streak he had.

"You trained them to kill?" a rough, southern drawl rang out. I looked up to find Daryl walking over to us. Blade stiffened, a growl ripping from his chest.  
"Don't come too close, he's still a bit wired," I warned. Blade snapped at the stranger. I tugged his collar until he finally refocused on me. I gave him a firm nod before uttering a simple phrase that he loved over any other.

"Go hunt." Without hesitation, the dog took off. I knew if there were a way out of the yard, he would find it. If there were not, he would spend the next few minutes racing from one end of the yard to the next until he found something to return with.

"That a smart idea?" Daryl asked, cocking an eyebrow.  
"He won't hurt anyone if he's in hunt mode," I shrugged. "He knows better. Hunt and kill are two different commands."  
"You put too much faith in those mutts," he muttered.  
"Those _mutts_ , as you so rudely put it, are the reason I'm still alive," I growled. I whistled and waited for Blade to return to my side. He did so within a minute flat, his claws ripping into the grass as he skidded to a halt. "Go rest," I told the dog. He looked up at me with deep, chocolate eyes. "Bed, now," I ordered. He bowed his head, his tail tucking as he ran towards the prison, no doubt following the scent back up to the cellblock.

"What happened that day in the woods?" Daryl asked as I started to wards the fence, my eyes staring off into the distance.  
"Found those guys from Woodbury trying to save Alana and her mother," I muttered. "Misha was still wired and willing to fight, so we helped. Couldn't save her mother in time, but lord help me, I wasn't about to let that lil' girl die."  
"You seem attached to her," he observed.  
"She's like a daughter to me," I said. Without realizing it, my voice cracked.  
"Did you…ya know, have kids 'fore all this started?" he asked me. I stopped and turned to him. I wanted to tell him to fuck off and stop with the questions, but something in his eyes made me stop. Something familiar, yet foreign all the same.  
"Had two," I said softly. "My son, Jake, was only a little older than Alana, and my daughter, Brooklyn, was almost four. They…we…" my voice hitched. I felt my emotions getting the best of me. I took a deep breath. _No. You don't get to feel sorry for yourself._ "It doesn't matter. They're gone as is everyone else I ever cared about. Misha and Blade, they're all I've got left next to Alana. And let me tell ya, there ain't a thing in the world I wouldn't so for those three."  
"You'd sacrifice yourself for a pair of mutts?" he asked, his tone bitter.  
"I would," I growled. I suddenly felt uncomfortable around this man. Something about him made me remember Merle. Maybe it was the eyes. The way they looked hard one moment, then the next, looked almost as if they honestly gave two shits about you. Or maybe it was just the similarities of their accents. They sounded so much alike, though Daryl, he was kinder. He didn't make me feel like an object.

Whatever it was, I didn't have any intentions of figuring this man out. Instead, I pulled away from the fence and started back towards the prison, ignoring Rick's calls as I passed by. I went into the cell I shared with Alana and climbed onto the top bunk, the events of the last four months finally catching up with me. Exhaustion set in, both physically and emotionally. Before I could even try to fight it, sleep found me. And for once, I didn't need to sleep with one eye open. Looking back, if I had known how restless my sleep would have really been, I would have forced myself to stay awake.


	6. Chapter 5 - Nightmares

" _You'll never amount to anything with an attitude like that," my father screamed as he belted me across the face. The worn, leather belt tore into my flesh like a hot metal rod.  
"Dad! Stop!" I begged, blood pouring from my newly split lip. "Stop!"  
"Harleigh Rayne, your mother would be rolling in her grave if she could see what you've become!" he hollered, slamming the belt across my chest, causing me to double over in pain.  
"Daddy, please," I begged. "Momma wouldn't want you doin' this and you know it!"  
"Dad, lay off, she made a mistake," my older brother, Johnny, urged. "Stop, you're gonna kill her!"_

 _The belt came down against the back of my neck, causing me to roll away, pain causing me to see red. I heard the sound of someone colliding with the wall. When I glanced up, I saw my brother looking at me, panic in his eyes._

" _Raynie, run" he hissed, using his nickname for me. He'd been calling me Raynie since the day I was born. Johnny had our father pinned to the wall. I didn't have to be told twice. I grabbed my worn leather coat off the floor and ran as fast as I could, never looking back._

 _I ran straight for the trees, retrieved my bow from where I kept it stashed in a small toolbox our uncle had given me years before. He knew what his brother, my father, had been doing to me, but he was powerless against the man's rage. We all were._

 _Johnny always came to my defense if he was home when our father decided I needed a good lickin'. He'd defend me and give me a chance to run. Even though Johnny and I did not see eye to eye on most things, I was his baby sister and he felt it was his job to protect me now that our mom was dead. He cared. And because of that, he often took the worse of the lickin' himself._

" _You'll never amount to nothing…" "You're a disgrace" "Your mother never wanted you, you spoiled rotten bitch…"_

 _All those harsh, cruel words came flashing through my mind as I ran. I ran until the pain in my legs caused me to stumble. I hit the cold dirt with a soft thud, crying bitterly into my hands. I hated him. I hated all of them. The endless nights of being abused, of being beaten for fighting the abuse. It was all too much for me._

" _Remember Harleigh," my uncle would joke. "If looks could kill, you'd have killed a hundred men."_

 _I held onto that. My uncle's kind temperament. The way he always asked me how I was, despite the scars and cuts that riddled my body. The way he'd taken me out hunting every weekend for as long as I could remember, as long as I promised to keep being strong. He'd taught me everything I knew. From setting a snare to firing a rifle. He'd taken the time to teach me to not only use a bow, but how to maintain one. He'd taken endless weekends of time, patience and determination to teach me to hunt, despite my brother being the more skilled and avid hunter of the family._

" _One day, you'll use these skills and save yourself from the burden your father has over you," he promised me each and every time I ran to him crying. "Don't you ever doubt that."_

…

" _I hate you!" Johnny roared into the phone as I looked at him through the glass window. "I hate you so much Harleigh Rayne!" I bit back tears as I rested my hand on the thick glass.  
"This is for your own good, Johnny," I whispered. It was the hardest decision I ever had to make. "You can't keep running around sticking needles into your arm. You've overdosed a dozen times, big brother."  
"You're a bitch, I should have let the ol' man kill you when I had the chance!" he screamed. "I hate you, you spoiled rotten bitch, and when I get outta here, you're gon' pay for what you did!"  
"I love you Johnny, please know that," I begged. Tears filled my eyes. "When you pay your dues, you'll be a free man. A drug free man."  
"Rot in hell, Harleigh. The moment I set foot out of here, I'm gonna let him beat the hell outta you, beat ya till you're dead and cold and the world is free from your do-gooder attitude. I hope you die, Harleigh Rayne, I hope you die."_

…

" _Leigh, the lawyer called today," my husband said hesitantly. "It's about Johnny."  
"What about Johnny?" I asked impatiently. I hadn't spoken to my brother in months.  
"He's dead," he said softly.  
"Excuse me?"  
"Johnny died, he got outta jail and he died," he said gently. "Johnny is dead."_

 _I looked down at the little boy in my arms. Our sweet, sweet boy. I made the promise there and then to never let him see the horrors of the world like my brother and I had._

…

" _It's your duty as my wife to fill my needs!" he growled, slamming me into the wall, his hands messing with the buttons on my shirt. "It's your duty!"  
"Let go of me!" I screamed, fighting him with all my strength. "I said not today!"  
"Leigh, don't you get it? You don't make the rules, I do," he hissed, throwing me onto the bed. Whenever I tried to push him off, it was met with a slap across the face. He forced himself onto me until he was satisfied, then left me there, naked, beaten and afraid. It brought me back to my childhood. _

" _Now get dressed, my mother is coming for dinner."  
"Fuck you," I growled. He turned to me, fire in his eyes. _

_He hit me as hard as he could, my head connecting with the corner of our bed. Another bruise for the collection. I turned away from him, pulling my clothes on and made myself presentable. I wanted to leave him, but I had nowhere to go. No family to turn to. And he knew it. The day he got called to duty, was the best day of my life. No, the day I got the call he was dead,_ _ **that**_ _was the best day of my life._

"Harleigh, wake up, Harleigh!" a rough, scratchy voice called. I flinched and pulled away, instinctively looking for something to defend myself with. The nightmare was fresh in my mind, adrenalin coursing through my veins. I forced my eyes open, gasping for air that never seemed to be enough.

I looked at the man calling my name, stunned to see Daryl standing there, looking at me with a mix of concern and pity. Past him, I could see Maggie holding Alana in her arms. The little girl looked petrified.

"I'm okay," I said, my voice hitching in my throat. I sat up slowly, careful not to stir up an infamous dizzy spell in the process. "I'm good." Alana looked at me with a shy smile, nodding her head knowingly. She had nightmares too.  
"You scared us something fierce there for a while," Maggie said gently. "Alana came running out of here like the devil was after her. She said you wouldn't stop screaming. Are you sure you're okay?"  
"I'm fine," I nodded. I rubbed the sleep from my eye, still trembling from the all too real dream. "Mind looking after her for a few minutes?" Maggie nodded and allowed me to pass her once I hoped off the top bunk. I felt someone trailing me, but didn't stop to spare a glance. I picked up my sword, which was carelessly tossed onto the table along with the rest of the group's weapons. I made my way through the prison until the cool night's air licked at my bare arms. I welcomed the distraction.

Without a word to my pursuer, I walked over to the fence and started taking out biters one at a time. The sword soon slick with dark, sticky blood. Just as I had done so many times before, I allowed myself to take all of my frustration, all of my pain, all of my anger, out on the creatures that snatched up what little normalcy I had left away from me.

I didn't stop until I felt a firm hand fall onto my shoulder. I turned, my chest burning with anger, only to meet the gaze of a sympathetic looking Daryl Dixon.

"You're pulling your stitches out," he murmured, nodding at the blood that was seeping through my shirt. I sighed and pressed my hand against the wound, wincing as pain ran through my body. I didn't say a word as I walked away from him, fighting my own emotions as I headed back towards the prison. He followed behind me like an obedient dog, always only a few steps behind me. I wasn't entirely sure why he insisted on shadowing my every move, but I didn't pay him much mind. Instead, I found Hershel sitting up with the tiny infant in his arms, rocking her gently in the dimly lit hall.

"She tore her stitches," Daryl informed him as he reached for the baby, who Hershel handed over without a word. I watched silently as the gruff, dirty man rocked the little baby, his movements so natural, so innocent. I was trying to figure out what the baby was to him.

"She yours?" I asked him as I took a seat, allowing Hershel to tend to my wound once again. Daryl smiled down at the little girl, shaking his head.  
"She's Rick's little girl," he said gently.  
"Really?" I asked. I was surprised. I hadn't seen that coming. I knew the boy, Carl, was Rick's but he never mentioned that the baby was his too. "What happened to her mother?"  
"Lori died in child birth," Hershel informed me. "Rick's been a mess ever since. That's why he didn't want to let you and Lana in," he added. Everyone had taken to using Alana's nickname.  
"How old…how long has it been?" I asked, carefully trying to keep my tone gentle.  
"A little over two weeks," Daryl said softly. "That's why we need to send Glenn and Maggie out tomorrow for a run."  
"I'll go too," I offered. "I know a little store that probably hasn't been picked over yet, and if we're lucky, we can maybe hit the day care I was talkin' about earlier."  
"You aren't goin' nowhere," Hershel said sternly. "You have to rest, recover."  
"I'm fine," I argued. I swear, no one wanted to listen to me.  
"You won't be if you get that wound infected."

I sighed in defeat. I wasn't used to people caring. I was used to being forced to fend for myself. When Hershel was done restitching my wound, I graciously turned down the bowl of beans Carol tried to offer me. I wasn't feeling hungry. Instead, I agreed to take them for Alana. I made my way back to the cell, to find Alana cuddled in Maggie's lap, fresh braids in her hair.

"Hey sweetie," I said gently, kissing the top of her head. "Have you eaten?" She shook her head, her sleepy eyes looking at me hopefully. I handed her the bowl of beans before sitting next to her, inching her slowly off Maggie's lap into mine.  
"Thank you Maggie," I said softly. She nodded and started to leave. I gently grabbed her arm to stop her. "You all, your group, you're different."  
"We care," she said simply as she left me and my adopted daughter to rest. I smiled as I hugged Alana close, letting her warmth ease some of the pain from my tense, aching body. This felt right. As hard as it was to admit, these people, this place, it all felt safe. However, if I had learned anything in my years on the godforsaken planet, it's that whenever something feels right, something has to go and screw it all up.


	7. Chapter 6 - Tombs And Missing Pieces

"Mommy, mommy! Wake up!" Alana's sweet voice woke me from my restless slumber. I had just fallen asleep not even an hour earlier. I groaned and rolled over to be greeted by her bright, smiling face. I smiled and pulled her onto the bunk with me, wrapping my arms around her thin frame, allowing her warmth to remind me that for the first time in a long time, we didn't need to rush out of bed.

"Good morning Sunshine," I said softly, kissing her forehead.  
"Mommy, that man scares me!" she whispered, burying her face into my pillow. I glanced around the cell to find it empty.  
"What man?" I asked, confused.  
"The one with only one leg," she said, her voice tiny.  
"Hershel? Sweetheart, he's a good man," I said softly, running my hands through her hair. The braids had fallen loose while she slept. "Why are you afraid of him?"  
"I'm scared he can hurt us like that man at Woodbur…wood…" she struggled to remember the name of the town.  
"Woodbury?" I helped.  
"Yeah, the man with only one hand," her voice cracked as tears welled in her eyes.  
"Hershel is nothing like that man," I said sternly. "Are you hungry?"

She peeped out from under the pillow, her eyes dancing as she nodded her head.

"Well then, shall we find something for breakfast then?" I said lightly. I pulled on my tattered leather jacket before helping her off the bunk, her little feet landing on the ground with a soft thud. Once we were both dressed, I smiled at her, watching as Blade pressed his giant head into her side, his tail wagging happily.  
"Blade likes it here," she said softly, patting his head.  
"He sure does," I agreed.

We made our way into the common room, where most of the survivors were already awake and busy tending to whatever it was they each had planned for the day. I glanced around, taking in the rough looking group.

I made my way over to Beth and asked her if she minded keeping an eye on Alana for a little while. She agreed eagerly, clearly attached to the little girl already. I kissed Alana's head before leaving her and Blade with the young blonde. I made my way over to Rick and Daryl slowly, still observing everyone as I crossed the large room.

"We're planning on clearing out the tombs today," Daryl informed me. "Since Maggie and Glenn are going out for a run." He looked sheepishly at Rick for a moment before adding, "We could really use someone like you down there with us."  
"I'm game," I nodded.  
"She hasn't been here long enough," Rick grunted. "We can't trust her. Besides, what good is she if she tears her stitches again?"  
"Rick, with all due respect, what kind of person do you take me as?" I asked. I kept my tone light. After having talked to Maggie the night before, after I had gotten Alana back to sleep, I knew Rick was still pretty torn up about losing his wife. "I wouldn't do anything to compromise your group. As for my stitches, I used to stitch myself up with fishing line, I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna tear them again."  
"I don't know that," Rick growled.  
"I do," Daryl said, surprising me yet again by taking up my defense. "Rick, she's fast on her feet and stubborn as a bull. And she's good with a bow. She's coming."  
"Fine," Rick huffed. He clearly didn't like that idea one bit, but I don't think he wanted to argue with his right hand. I couldn't really blame him, we lived in a world where you couldn't trust anyone, but I could tell that he trusted Daryl's instincts better than his own.  
"I'll bring Misha with us. She's got a nose for Biters," I said softly, running my hand down the young dog's thin frame.  
"Biters, huh?" Daryl said, cocking an eyebrow. "We call 'em Walkers."  
"I've called them everything under the sun," I shrugged. "Walkers fits too." I turned my attention to my bow, which was still on the table. I started adjusting the strings silently, making note of how few arrows I still had left.  
"What're you doin'?" Daryl asked, watching me, almost as if he were intrigued.  
"Different setting down there," I said, not taking my eyes off my work. The strings were starting to wear. I made a mental note to take care of that sooner, rather than later. "Don't want long distance in a cramped space."  
"How long have you been using that thing?" Rick asked.  
"Long enough," I huffed. Rick gave me a look that told me he didn't like my answer. "This one in particular? About ten years. Bows in general? Since I was eight."  
"Really?" Daryl asked, impressed.  
"My uncle taught me to hunt when I was five. Started me off with a small .22 but I never was a fan of hunting with guns. My first kill was a squirrel when I was six with that damn rifle. I hated the damn thing so he made me my first bow and before long I was off hunting bigger game," I shrugged.  
"So you've been hunting your entire life?" Rick asked. His tone was emotionless. I almost wanted to ask him why it mattered so damn much. Almost everyone I knew grew up hunting. It was the way of life in the middle of the boonies.  
"More or less," I said with a nod. "Hunting, fishing, camping, you name it, I've done it. Trees are my specialty."  
"Whatcha mean?" Daryl asked, completely absorbed in every word I said. It made me wonder if he'd never came across a female hunter in his life.  
"I spent a lot of time out in the woods. Learned to climb trees when I was about seven, learned to jump from one tree to the next by the time I was ten. I can take down an owl without it even seeing me coming," I shrugged. "Comes with the territory though."  
"What territory?" Rick asked, his tone changing. He was suddenly glaring at me like I was a criminal or something. I didn't want to go into my past with this man, but I knew if I didn't, he would make me regret it. I was suddenly kicking myself for letting them know I had any kind of skills before the world went to shit. Maybe it would have changed how they looked at me if I was sweet and innocent like Beth or quiet like Maggie.  
"My ol' man was a cruel man. When my mom died, he turned violent. So I found comfort in the woods," I shrugged. "Was easier to make peace with the man when I was coming home with a deer or turkey or whatever. I kept food on the table."  
"You grow up around here?" Daryl asked, clearly trying to figure me out.  
"Nah, I'm from Tifton, my uncle's from Macon," I said.  
"Really? Tifton, eh?" Rick asked. He seemed to be thinking about something.  
"Yeah," I nodded. I was over the conversation so instead I turned my attention to the map of the tombs that was spread out in front of them. "There's a breach in your back wall. I could probably come up with a way to keep the bit…er Walkers out," I pointed to the map. "You rig it well enough, they won't be able to get in."  
"We tried that already," Rick informed me, his tone turning bitter.

I nodded and turned my attention to Misha, who was pawing at the ground. She was eager to do something, anything. She wasn't used to being locked up, but after Woodbury, she especially hated it. I scratched her head while the pair formulated a plan.

Before we headed to the tombs, I put Misha's vest on her before clipping a short, leather leash to her collar. Under normal circumstances she wouldn't be tied up, but considering we weren't entirely sure what we were heading down to, I wasn't risking anything happening to foil the plan.

As we started towards the tombs, I noticed that despite Daryl seeming to be Rick's right hand, he kept his distance from the grieving man. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. I didn't say anything to him about it, just made a mental note to keep an eye on the reclusive redneck. Something seemed to be eating at him.

Clearing the tombs wasn't too difficult. The hardest part was when they identified T-Dog's body. He had been with them since the beginning. I didn't ask them what kind of man he had been. I could tell by the looks on their faces that he had been an important member of their group. Not too long after, Daryl stopped, having found something that made his face drop. A thin headscarf. I looked at the piece of cloth, before shaking my head sadly. I knew he was certain they had lost another member of their group.

We cleared the tombs as quickly as we could, no one wanting to linger in the dimly lit tunnels for longer than necessary. Once they were clear, Rick walked off without so much as a word to Daryl or me. It was then that I took a chance to ask to see the scarf. Daryl sent me a dirty look, but didn't say anything as I knelt in front of Misha, pressing the scarf to her nose. She whined and tried to pull away, her ears flat against her skull, her fur standing on end.

"C'mon girl, you can find her," I whispered. She looked at me before taking the cloth in her mouth, pulling at the leash.  
"She tracks?" Daryl asked, his tone completely emotionless.  
"Sort of," I shrugged. "Don't all dogs track?" I wrapped the leash around my wrist as Misha led us through the tunnels, her nose pressed to the ground. She sat down beside a dead walker, her body shaking with low, inaudible growls. I looked at Daryl who cocked an eyebrow before tugging the dead body out of the way. Misha stood, barking loudly at the door, her ears perked forward.  
"I've got you," I told Daryl as he slowly opened the door, a knife in his hand. To our amazement, instead of a walker, there, huddled in a corner of the closet, sat a very tired, very weak looking woman with short, grey hair. A very much alive woman.

"Carol," Daryl said, his tone barely above a whisper. He knelt beside her, pulling her into his arms. "Thank god." I spared them a smile as I ran down the tunnel, trying hard to keep up with Misha who had been all too eager to get out of the dark, damp space.

Once we reached the cellblock, I unclipped the leash and gave Misha a chance to relax. She seemed pretty content as she made her way over to the far corner of the perch and laid down on the cool floor. I smiled at her before turning my attention to the commotion in the hallway.

As soon as I saw the woman, I knew something was horribly wrong. 


	8. Chapter 7 - Return To Woodbury

Alana ran to my side as I opened the gate that separated Cellblock C from the outer corridor. I pushed her behind me, shielding her from the scene unraveling before us. Rick was holding Michonne down, her katana far out of her reach. I could see her leg bleeding from what looked like a bullet wound. While I didn't know her well at all, I knew if she was anything like me, that simple action would be enough to send her over the edge. She looked at me, her eyes wide with recognition and fear.

"Rick, let her up, I know her," I said softly, taking a step forward. Alana trailed my every move.  
"You do?" he asked, releasing his hold on her ever so slightly. Her wound was bleeding pretty badly.  
"Michonne, what happened?" I asked, kneeling beside her. "Lana, go get my first aid kit." Alana waited for Carl to unlock the gate before running towards our cell.  
"The Governor's what happened," she muttered sourly. "The Governor and his men."  
"Where did you find her?" I directed my question at Rick.  
"Just outside the fence. She was carrying a basket full of formula," he said. His tone was flat, almost as if he was forgetting that Glenn and Maggie had gone out for formula for his daughter.

Alana returned at that point, Hershel along with her. Together, the two of us patched Michonne's leg while she slowly explained what had happened. One of the Governor's men had kidnapped Glenn and Maggie. My heart sank as she explained how it happened. I felt sick as soon as I realized from Michonne's description who had them.

Once Michonne's leg was patched, Hershel sat with her while Daryl led Rick back into the cellblock. He was eager to show him that Carol didn't die down in the tombs after all. I hesitated, there were so many questions I wanted to ask Michonne, but something told me that it wasn't the best timing just yet. Instead, I led Alana over to Beth, who was feeding the pack scraps of almost spoiled meat.

"Can you keep an eye on her for a little while?" I asked, sitting her down beside Blade who seemed to hum merrily when his little two-legged friend rubbed his head. "I have a feeling we're going to be in for a long day." Beth agreed, smiling brightly at Alana, who was picking at the bowl of mush I had offered her. "Lana, I love you," I told her as I kissed the top of her head before making my way back to the pair. Rick was pacing restlessly, a troubled look on his face.

"We have to go after them," he said finally, his face grim as he threw a look at Michonne. "She says she can get us in…"  
"I have no doubt that she can," I said hesitantly. "The wall's secure against walkers, but not people."  
"Do you know anywhere they might be holding Glenn and Maggie?" Rick was tired. He looked ready to lose his mind all over again.  
"I know a couple places," I nodded. "I also have an idea who we're up against. But that doesn't really matter. What matters is getting them out before they can get any more hurt than they already are."  
"Carl, I need you to stay here," Rick called to his son. I saw the hurt expression on the boy's face.  
"Carl, if something happens out there, you'll be the man of the group," I reminded him gently. Alana walked up to me, tears in her eyes.  
"Do you really gotta go?" she asked me, a pout forming. She looked so innocent.

I thought about how to put it so she could understand. A thought came to mind but I dismissed it quickly. Instead, I pulled the old camera we had been using sparingly out of my bag, along with a pile of photographs from various places and times. I lined up ones of Maggie and Glenn, a cute, simple photo from the night before, along with photos of the pack and the two of us Daryl was leaning against the wall, watching us with a strange expression on his face.

"It's kind of like how the prince always has to save the princess," I told her, now down on the floor with her in my lap. "Maggie and Glenn are in trouble," I sat the picture down so she could see their smiling faces. "Blade's gonna stay here and protect you," I pointed to the picture of Blade.  
"Like a good Duke?" she mused. Her innocence was refreshing.  
"Exactly," I nodded. "And me, Michonne, Daryl, Rick and Oscar are all going to go rescue them." I swiftly snapped a picture of Daryl, catching him off guard, his arrows glowing against the brightness of the flash. When the picture developed, I placed it next to the others on the floor so Alana could see.  
"Daryl's the knight in shining armor," Alana mused, her eyes twinkling. I chuckled in spite of myself, looking at the photograph. Daryl did indeed have the shining thing down for sure. His arrows had casted a glow over his body, making him almost seem like an angel in the photo.  
"Mommy?" Alana broke me out of my thoughts.  
"Hmm?"  
"Is Daryl a superhero?" she asked me with dancing eyes. I glanced over to the dirty, gruff redneck, a smile playing on my lips.  
"I dunno, why don't you go ask him?" I chuckled. Alana climbed off my lap and ran towards him, a grin on her face. Daryl threw me a hopeless look, to which I simply shrugged and mouthed 'Go with it'. By the look on my daughter's face, I could tell he had told her whatever it was she wanted to hear. I chuckled and tucked the photos away, along with a short letter to Alana that I had written ages ago in Woodbury. It was a letter I could only hope she'd read one day.

I tied my hair back, carefully securing it in my hood before counting my arrows. I was down to just over a dozen if I was counting the ones that were in need of repair. I made a mental note to make some more, sooner rather than later. Once I was packed and ready to make the long trek back to Woodbury, I turned my attention to Misha. She was waiting patiently, her tail wagging, eager to get her armor on. I picked up the heavy, lead based vest and strapped it to her back, securing the straps tightly underneath her. I put her thickest collar around her neck, adjusting both pieces until I was certain her vital organs were protected. I slipped the piece of leather that the spikes were mounting to over the bulletproof vest, ensuring she was completely protected and lethal. Once I was content with her rig, I clipped a thin chain leash to her collar before loading a few rounds of ammo into the vest pockets, along with a small, bright red reflector. The reflector would be clipped to Misha's collar as a sign that we weren't making it out alive. Whenever things were expected to go south, the red reflector was essential to a run. Regardless of the situation, if Misha were to return with the reflector clipped to her collar, whatever group I was currently with would know it was safe to assume I was dead. I only ever had to use it once, that was when I was with my first group, right before Jake, and Brooklyn died. We were ambushed the night I fell out of the tree and nearly died. I had clipped the reflector to Misha before I had climbed the tree and sent her off, certain I would perish. Luck have it, my son was stubborn and made our group look for me. Otherwise I would have been dead. Misha saved my life that day and had been doing so ever since.

"You look worried," Hershel noted as I handed him my first aid kit. "I still don't think it's a good idea for you to be going out, but I know nothing I say will stop you."  
"I am worried," I admitted. I glanced at Alana. "I need you to do a favor for me," I said, my voice just over a whisper.  
"Of course," he nodded, waiting for my request.  
"If Misha comes back with a red reflector on her collar, I'm dead and odds are the group is too. It's the most discreet S.O.S, sign we have," I said softly. "If she comes back, without me…can you…" my voice hitched. I took a breath, gathered my thoughts. "Can you make sure someone watches out for Alana? She's a great kid. Smart too. She'll be an asset as she gets older. Please promise me that little girl will be okay. The dogs, they'll either pull their weight here or wander off on their own. They're all wild dogs at this point. Alana though…she's innocent and good and deserves to know what being looked after feels like. She's pure in ways I'll never understand," tears slipped from my eyes. "Please, promise me, Hershel."  
"Oh, honey, I promise!" he said. He pulled me in and gave me a tight hug, tears in his own eyes. "But you're gonna come back, you got to. My Maggie is out there. If anyone can bring her home to me, I know it's Rick and you all."  
"I only wish I could have some of your confidence," I said. I broke the hug and headed towards the perch where Alana was feeding Misha scraps of meat.  
"C'mon Meesh, time to go for a run," I called to her. She came to my side quickly, her ears perked, completely focused on the task. "I love you Alana, be good, and stay safe!" I called over my shoulder.  
"I love you too Mommy! Be careful!" she called her tone so sweet and innocent.  
"Always," I whispered. I saw tears in her eyes and for a moment, I almost wanted to call the whole thing off and stay with her. Nevertheless, I owed this group my life, so instead, I watched as Beth knelt beside her, pulling her in for a hug. That was my sign to leave. I hurried from the cellblock before my emotions could get the best of me. I made it outside before anyone else, fighting back the urge to go back, be safe, follow Hershel's advice, and just focus on healing. However, I couldn't do that. I was not the type to do any of that.

I waited until Rick and the rest filed out of the prison. We had already came up with a plan for how we were going to get there. I waited patiently as Daryl kicked his motorcycle to life before climbing on behind him. He nodded once before taking off, flying through the now opened gates. Rick's Hyundai followed close behind us. I had given Misha enough leash to allow her to fan out, keeping to the grass, keeping pace with us just fine.

Once we were just a mile or two shy of Woodbury, we killed the engines and took to the trees on foot. Michonne led the way. We were silent, each lost in our own thoughts. We all knew that we might not make it back alive. Maybe some of us were making peace with the gods, while others, well maybe some of us were trying to find peace with ourselves.

* * *

 **A/N – First off, thank you to everyone who has read thus far! I appreciate any and all feedback, so don't shy away from letting me know what you think!**

 **Second off, I just wanted to make sure everyone was aware that no, this will not remain canon with the original series. Certain settlements are going to be extracted while a few characters are going to be added. I am also reading the comics, so some of that may slip in too.**


	9. Chapter 8 - All or Nothing

Michonne and I broke off without a word to the rest as we reached the bushes closest to the wall. We both silently seemed to have the same plan – find the simplest way in, undetected. Misha stayed close to my side as we inched through the bushes, scanning the wall for guards. There were only three posted, one of which I knew to be a very kind man. Alex. He wasn't going to stop us if we got in and certainly wouldn't stop us when we tried to get back out. The other two I didn't recognize. I wasn't overly concerned, there had been five guards the night Alana and I made a break for it and we had gotten away without any problems, unlike Michonne's escape apparently.

It was Michonne who found the breach in the wall. We exchanged a glance before heading back towards the group. Daryl threw me a questioning look, but said nothing when she hissed "This way". We all filed out of the bushes, keeping as low a profile as possible.

Getting through the town once we were inside the wall wasn't too difficult. Every time Rick or Daryl threw a flash bomb, we'd pick up our pace. What proved to be troublesome however, was Misha. Despite the cloth we kept pressing to her nose, was struggling to locate Glenn and Maggie's scent. She was antsy and unfocused, a reaction I had never seen the young dog have in all the months we'd been traveling together. She seemed distracted. As I turned around to try and ask Michonne something, but she was nowhere to be found. I sighed and pressed the cloth to Misha's nose again, praying she'd pick up the slightest scent of them.

I was about to turn to Daryl and tell him maybe we should consider turning back when Misha's ears perked, her nose twitching. She finally caught a wind of something. She tugged at the chain leash that was digging painfully into my hand. I gave her a pat before letting her lead me through an alley, Rick and Daryl both close behind me.

"Easy girl, whoa," I said softly. Within a few minutes, the smell of rotting flesh hit us head on. I gagged, my stomach churning. I pushed open a door, stunned at the scene in front of me. There of the Governor's men were lying dead in the hallway, their throats ripped out, their skulls mashed in. I looked around and what I saw would forever be burned into my mind.

" _You're going to see some horrific things in this life, Grasshopper," my mother said softly as she braided my hair. "You'll see that men can be monster. That friends can turn on you in a heartbeat. You'll see just how violent this world can be."  
"But mom, you're not mean or violent," I said softly, looking up into her bright, sea green eyes.  
"No, but some people are," she said, patting my head softly. "Now run along, let's not keep your uncle and brother waiting!"_

 _My mother wasn't a huge fan of my hunting, but she accepted it because she knew it made me happy. It made me who I was._

…

" _She's got cancer, Raynie," Johnny said softly, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Mom's got cancer…"  
"No," I moaned, burying my face in my hands. I let the shock wear off just long enough for me to grab my jacket before heading to the woods where I spent the next few weeks, silently, waiting for my mother to die. The night she died, I had been sitting by her side, telling her all about a recent hunt. _

" _You'll never believe how amazing it felt, mom, the wind in my hair, the rain on my skin, it was amazing," I described, holding her hand in mine. She looked at me for a moment, a sad smile playing on her lips. Then her breathing hitched. I looked down at her thin, frail body. In the blink of an eye, her body seemed to sink even farther into the blankets. I raised my hand to check for a pulse, but it was hopeless. She was gone._

…

" _Jake, Brooke, where are you?" I murmured, pushing myself to keep walking despite the throbbing in my head. "Where are they Misha?" I looked at the dog but she didn't even bat an eye. She whined and kept leading me to a house I knew was overran. Our group had purposely left it untouched for that very reason._

 _After circling for three hours, I caved and let Misha lead me to the house. I took a deep breath and shoved the door open, taking out the biters that came at me the moment they had a chance. I cleared them away in an almost zombie like trance before stepping over the rotting flesh, my stomach churning at the sickening smell._

" _Jake? Brooklyn?" I called out. Then I saw them. My two children, clutched in each other's embrace. I took a step closer, only then away that they both had bullet holes in their heads. I turned away. Misha's howl shook the house._

 _In a single moment, everything changed._

"Harleigh?" Daryl's rough voice broke me from my memories. He was standing in front of me, his hands firmly on my shoulders. It was then that I realized I was trembling. There in the corner, sat Glenn, his face beaten to a pulp. Maggie was in his arms, her face broken in fear. "Harleigh, we have to move. We have to get them outta here. You with us?" Daryl's tone was oddly gentle.  
"Man, she's gon' go into shock," Oscar said from somewhere behind us. "We gotta move now man!"  
"Shut up," Daryl growled before turning his attention back to me. "Think of that little girl of yours," he growled, his forehead pressed against mine. "Think about your promise to Hershel. We lose Michonne, we need you to get us outta here."

The smell. I couldn't escape the smell. I groaned and wheeled away, emptying the contents of my stomach onto the dirty, blood covered floor. I spat one last time before straightening up, my head fuzzy, but my senses in tune with what we had to do.

"Misha, c'mon," I called to her. She looked at me with worried eyes before taking off down the hallway. I wrapped an arm around Maggie while Oscar helped Glenn to his feet. Together, our small group made our way onto the street.

"We'll never get past them now," Maggie sobbed into my shoulder as I led the way through the alley.  
"We have to," I said softly. I looked around, trying to find the easiest escape route. "Rick, take the group back the way we came."  
"What about you?" he asked. I could see it in his eyes. He was close to losing it. But so was I. And unlike him, I didn't have a group, not really, waiting for me. I had only my daughter and my dogs.  
"I'll be there, don't worry," I said. I pushed Maggie to Rick before I took off, firing my arrows as quickly as I could load them.

I made noise. A lot of it. I was giving Rick a chance to get his people out of there.

"Kitten?" a vaguely familiar voice called as the dust settled. The one handed man came into view. In the same moment, I became aware that Daryl had trailed me, instead of following Rick.  
"Merle?" Daryl's voice choked out from behind me.  
"Daryl?!" Merle looked stunned.  
"Here ta help?" I asked him.  
"Yeah," he nodded. He quickly got over his shock in seeing his brother. The three of us provided cover fire for the rest of the group, but not before we lost Oscar to a stray bullet. My heart sank but I didn't give up. Instead, the three of us sent arrows and bullets through the heads of several of the Governor's most trusted men.

"Rick needs help," Daryl motioned. Rick was struggling to drag Maggie and Glenn after him. I sighed and lowered my arrow, coming to his aid.  
"How's your side?" Rick asked, helping Maggie lean on me, her body trembling.  
"Fine," I said, even though it was probably a lie. Adrenaline had numbed any pain I would have been feeling. "Let's move."

We struggled to find a decent breach in the fence. We were slowly being surrounded, men from all corners of Woodbury being drawn to the chaos unfolding. I looked around, and then I saw _him_. I lightly pressed Maggie against Glenn. I gave a knowing look to Rick before pulling my hunting knife loose from my boot.

"Where are you going?" Merle growled at me as I pushed past him.  
"To finish something I should have finished a long time ago," I growled. "When I say go, throw a flash bomb," I told Daryl. He looked worried, but he had to know I was smarter than I looked. I was going to get out alive, one way or another. Daryl nodded and waited for the signal.

I wheeled away from the group, Misha at my side as I took off running, using the chaos as cover. I gave a single nod to Daryl, who threw the flash bomb, giving me just enough cover to come up behind my target.

"Don't move," I hissed in his ear as I pressed my blade to his throat, dragging him into the nearest building. I slammed the door shut, barricading us inside.

The man looked at me with a snide smile playing on his lips. He really was an evil man.

"Well, well, well, what have we hear," he purred, sitting down on the floor. He was weaponless, thanks to a quick maneuver that led to his losing his gun before we got into the building. "Little miss Harleigh Rayne, back for more?"  
"Go ta hell O'Riely," I growled. This man…this monster…he was the worst of all of them, he had taken his frustrations out of me more times than anyone else there.  
"Why'd you leave? We were having so much fun," he went on, taunting me. "That lil' girl of yours coulda been part of it all too."

That was the final straw. I wheeled around, a snarl ripping through my chest as I whipped the sharp knife across his face. He pulled back, eyes wild.

"You crazy bitch!" he growled, throwing himself at me. Had I been alone, he would have dominated over me without even needing to try, the wound in my side proving to be more of a bother than I anticipated. However, as soon as he had me pinned, Misha jumped into action, her teeth catching him right between his shoulder blades. He threw me to the ground, trying to free the dog from his back. Misha was a strong dog. Her sharp teeth held strong as he shook and shook. She released her grip, landing on her feet, blood dripping from her mouth.

"Don't worry, you'll come back," I hissed into the bitter man's ear as I slammed my knife into his throat. He gurgled, blood pooling from his mouth as he crumbled into a heap on the pavement. I wiped the knife clean before moving the chair away from the door. I stole a glance outside before sending Misha ahead of me, the reflector secure in my hand, just in case.

I made for the fence, Misha leading the way. No one had released I was still inside so most of the men who had been trying to catch Rick's group had fanned out, unaware of my sneaking past them. Thankfully, Misha knew an easy enough escape route and before long, we were squeezing through a breech in the fence, finally leaving Woodbury behind for good. I managed to locate Rick's group a mile up the path, their cars tucked just out of sight.

"He's not coming back with us!" I heard Rick argue.  
"Like hell he ain't," Daryl spat angrily. "He's my brother!"  
"He kidnapped us!" Glenn growled. Maggie was tending his wounds. I threw a hopeless look at Merle, who looked at his feet like they were the most interesting thing ever.  
"Governor still havin' you do all his dirty work, eh?" I muttered slowly. Merle looked up, a sly smirk on his face.  
"Always has," he shrugged. "You owe me," he added, glaring at Rick.  
"I ain't owe you shit!" Rick growled, his gun level with Merle's head. The swift motion made Daryl level his crossbow with Rick's head.  
"Enough, both of you," I growled, standing between them. "You do owe him," I added carefully, nodding back in the general direction of Woodbury. "Merle didn't have to side with us. Even with Daryl bein' his brother and all."  
"What're you getting at?" Rick asked defensively.  
"How do you think we got in so easily?" I asked. "Merle sent his men to take a break. That young guy up there? That was Alex. Alex helped me escape the first time. We shouldn't have been able to slip in so easily."  
"We didn't! We almost lost our entire group goin' in there!" Rick shouted at me, his face only inches from mine. "Don't you dare take up his defense you sorry bitch!"

I shrank back. I honestly thought this broken, pathetic man was going to strike me. Daryl stepped between us, his eyes on fire.

"Rick, back off," he growled. I could see Daryl's muscles twitching.

A moan from Glenn put the argument to an end. I looked at the broken man, my heart sinking. "We need to get him back to Hershel," I said quickly. Rick's expression softened then. I don't know what changed, but he said nothing as he headed to the car, helped Maggie get Glenn inside, and threw a dirty look at Daryl and me.

"He ain't riding with us," Rick growled.

I smiled in spite of myself, patting Misha's head. "We'll walk back, you two get to the prison and be ready to let us in," I told Daryl. Daryl glanced at my injured side but seemed to be satisfied with the fact I wasn't bleeding through my shirt enough not to argue with me.  
"Why're you doin' this, Leigh?" Merle asked me, his told almost sincere. "Y'all don't owe me nothin'."  
"I owe your brother my life," I shrugged. "I know what it's like to watch your kin get torn away from you. Wasn't about to watch it happen to the man who saved mine and my daughter's skin," I explained, unclipping Misha's chain. I gave her a pat, signaling for her to run ahead and scout the trail. I looked at the brothers, a smile playing on my lips. "Family is everything in this life."

Without another word, I took off into the bushes, letting my legs move as fast as they could carry me. The trees and bushes brushed against my skin, reminding me of a simpler time. I knew we could reach the prison in about two hours, give or take. I wasn't losing time covering my tracks. I didn't need to, for I left none behind.

As I ran, I couldn't help but wonder what side Merle was more loyal to. His brother and the group, or the Governor and Woodbury. It was a scary thought. It made me wonder if defending Merle would prove to be just another mistake to add to my ever growing list. A mistake I made simply because my heart went and got in the way of judgement. But in that moment, I didn't regret it. Rick had to realize that Daryl had given everything for the group, it was only fair that Rick himself made a few sacrifices for the rough, fearless redneck that always had his back.

The would we lived in was full of uncertainties and while trusting people always seemed to come at a cost, they took a chance on me and it seemed to be helping them stay alive. Who was to say this wouldn't be like that? Even if it wasn't, I wasn't afraid to put a bullet in Merle's head if the time should come. I wasn't afraid of much anymore.


	10. Chapter 9 - Remorse, Reflections, Regret

I slowed my pace as dusk began to fall on the forest. The birds retired for the night, the crickets and owls taking their place, softly filling the world with their songs. Misha grew impatient by my slowing pace, growling every now and then, willing me to move faster. I was lost in thought, no longer concerned with either of our wellbeing. I was hung up on the past and how if I had just been a little faster, just a little smarter, maybe I could have prevented the nightmare that had soon become my life. I was tired of losing people. I was tired of people dying. I was tired.

A low moan wasn't even enough to shake me from my thoughts. I didn't flinch. I didn't make any move to protect myself. The walker walked right on past me, either because I smelled like it or because…well maybe I was already dead.

My grip on reality slipped as I aimlessly walked through the forest. I had lost the trail hours ago and didn't have any care to try and find it. Misha whined, growing more and more nervous. I sank to the ground next to a huge oak tree, all the fight and determination lost along with my sanity. I clipped the red reflector to Misha's collar and told her to get back to the prison. I told her to protect Alana and somehow keep her alive. She whined and tried to push me back to my feet, but even she knew it was a lost cause. Against her better judgement, she took off running, letting out soft barks every now and again. Soon, I couldn't hear her anymore. It was then that I allowed myself to cry. I allowed all the pain, all the emotional turmoil to finally take over.

I didn't fight back the small herd that made its way towards me. I just sat there, almost welcoming death. I was welcoming the end. No more pain, no more suffering, nothing.

* * *

It was Merle who saw the reflector in the distance. He was the first person Harleigh had ever bothered to tell about the little S.O.S. signal outside of her first group and her children.

"We've got a problem, baby brother," he said, motioning to the dog as she ran to the fence.  
"No," Daryl's tone was soft as he let the dog through, tearing the reflector from her collar. "Ain't no way in hell she's dead."  
"You think she'd send the dog back with that thing if she wasn't?" Merle asked skeptically. Even in Woodbury, Misha was always glued to Harleigh's side. If she wasn't, Blade was. He often teased her about it.  
"I'm going after her," Daryl said, his mind made up.  
"Why? You ain't owe her nothing," Merle argued, his tone dripping with disgust.

Daryl said nothing. Something told him the entire situation was off. He grabbed his crossbow before nodding at Misha. "Find her," he commanded. Misha whined and pawed the ground, unsure if she should follow the redneck's command. Merle smirked, amused by the dog's confusion.  
"Told ya, she's dead," he said, his tone almost sympathetic. Something about that girl had his baby brother all out of sorts.  
"Who's dead?" Rick's bitter tone rang through the darkness. Daryl couldn't bring himself to make eye contact.  
"Misha came back…along," he said softly, showing Rick the reflector.  
"She made her decision," Rick shrugged. He moved past the pair, unconcerned about the news. He didn't seem to be totally there either.  
"Looks like some things never change," Merle muttered, spitting in the direction Rick had gone. Daryl said nothing. He turned back to Misha, hoping, no actually truly praying, that Harleigh was alive.  
"I'm going after her," he said again, this time actually wheeling away from Merle, who muttered something under his breath.  
"I'm not," Merle said louder this time. Daryl turned back to him, a desperate expression on his dirt-covered face.  
"Please," he begged. For once in his life, he needed his brother to man the hell up enough to do the right thing. "You owe her."

Merle pondered his brother's words. It didn't make sense that his brother cared so much for the fiery, scrawny little huntress. Then again, Daryl never was right in the head as far as Merle was concerned.

"Fine."

* * *

I found myself thinking back to a conversation I had with Merle a few days after landing in Woodbury. Alana was with one of the mothers whose children she had gotten fairly close with. Merle and I had agreed to go out on a run for gasoline while the woman watched Alana for me. Apparently Woodbury had been running low on fuel, which wasn't much of a surprise considering how the Governor seemed to always be enjoying the amenities the rest of us had given up soon after the world went to shit.

" _Carin's gon' get ya killed," Merle said as we scouted the gas station, taking out the undead as we went. Merle was to my left, Misha to my right, Blade far ahead, trying to clear a path. Scout was following behind us, trying to make herself as useful as her bigger, wiser friends.  
"Caring's kept me alive this long," I shrugged as I picked up my pace, not wanting to lose sight of Blade.  
"You're stupid, Kitten, you know that?" Merle scoffed. His tone was bitter, completely heartless. "Always off helpin' someone."  
"It's called bein' human," I spat. He was annoying the hell outta me. "Try it sometime."  
"Didn't never care 'bout no one," he murmured, more to himself than to me.  
"Not even your brother?" I asked. As soon as we had gotten safely behind the walls that surrounded Woodbury, Merle had asked if I happened to cross paths with his brother at any point. From what I had gathered, they had been separated for quite some time by the time I showed up.  
"That's different," Merle snarled. "Kin's all you've got." His tone was unreadable. I spared a glance at the gruff, angry man. Maybe there was something more to Merle after all.  
"You'll find him," I said gently. I pulled ahead, still following Blade through the gas station's lot of abandoned cars. _

"Crazy," I muttered to myself, shaking my head. "The world's gone to hell and still, people get their their happy endings." It seemed strange to me that Merle never bothered to mention his brother's name. I hadn't even pieced it together until Michonne showed up at the prison. Maybe it was fate. Maybe that was what my purpose had been all along. Bring those two back together and die right after. It seemed poetic enough.

 _No,_ I thought to myself. My purpose was to raise that little girl as my own. I had to. Alana had no one left in this awful, evil world. No one other than me. It was my job to protect her. Regardless, I couldn't bring myself to move from my perch. Misha was gone and the walkers were swarming the tree I had managed to climb. I was screwed. Either I die trying to get down or I die from dehydration waiting for them to wander off.

 _Nice one, Harleigh,_ I scolded myself. _Of course you come to your senses after you've gone and gotten yourself into a mess you aren't prepared to deal with._ I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to die. In that moment, giving up was so much easier than trying to come up with a plan.

" _You'll never amount to nothing…" "You're a disgrace, you pitiful bitch…." "Your mother never wanted you, you stupid, naïve brat…"_

" _You deserved all the lashes dad ever gave you. You deserved every, single one of 'em and so much more!"_

" _I'll make you scream my name, you little whore. I'll make you scream till ya can't utter 'nother word!"_

" _Mommy!" Brooke cried out. "Mommy wake up!"  
"C'mon mom, you can't die on me," Jake begged.  
I wanted to hold onto them forever, but the fight….the fight was too great. The pain, the darkness, I welcomed it all. _

I broke down. Tears poured down my cheeks until there were no tears left to cry. I regretted every decision I had ever made. Every single one of them. All I wanted was to hold my children, all three of them, one last time. I looked down at the herd and kicked myself for ever thinking I could hold my own. Now I was going to break my promise to yet another child. I would never make it back to Alana. I would never feel her warmth again. Instead, I would die in a damn tree and turn into one of them. Or I'd fall and they'd tear me to shreds. Or maybe…No. That wasn't a possibility anymore. _No_. This time, there wasn't going to be a knight in shining armor or an escape or a four legged friend to get me out. Even my dog knew it was better to leave me than to fight to keep me alive. Even _I_ knew it was better to give up on myself. Because right there, I was lost. I was lost in my head. I was lost and alone and nothing more than walker bait. All because I _cared_ too damn much. All because I cared too much to care about what I was feeling, to put the concern for others aside long enough to cope. To cope with the death of my children and the loss of anything and everything I ever knew. To cope with everything that had happened at Woodbury and the nightmares that it all stirred up. I was too damn stubborn to express any sort of feeling. Instead, I put all of my energy into protecting everyone else and look where that got me?

My last coherent thought was that Merle was right after all. Damn redneck.

* * *

Misha led the way through the woods, straying far from the trail they had expected Harleigh to take. Every now and then she stopped to mark a rock or stump or bush, but otherwise, she kept on running, only circling back long enough for us to keep an eye on her. Daryl kept his eyes on the ground, looking for any sign that she could still be alive. They walked for what seemed like forever. Merle complained and insulted everyone and everything the entire time. Finally, Daryl caught sight of Harleigh's bow, her arrows scattered around the ground. The low echo of moans and growls rattled off the trees.

Misha froze, her ears pinned to her skull, her teeth bared as she let out a low, vicious growl.

"Told ya, Darlina, Kitten's lnog gone," Merle said with a bitter shake of his head.  
"Shut up, Merle," Daryl growled. His heart sank as he moved towards the sound, terrified of what he may find, but determined to know for sure.

Without warning, Misha shot in front of them, barking loudly, her thick fur flying in the wind as she took off at an incredible speed. Daryl followed her, only vaguely aware that Merle was keeping pace behind him.

Misha charged at walkers, her teeth, claws and the spiked vest tearing through their flesh and bones. Merle started slashing at them as Daryl took aim, finishing the herd off in record time.

Daryl's heart sank. He scanned the sea of carnage to try and find anything that resembled Harleigh.

"Misha, you foolish pup you," a familiar voice moaned. The leaves above them rustled, causing Daryl and Merle to both look up. Another rustle followed by a groan and a loud, uncoordinated thud caused them to exchange a look. Then she stepped out from behind the tree, looking exhausted and something neither could quite put a word to. Misha couldn't contain her excitement any longer. She ran to her friend, her tail wagging wildly, launching herself into her arms, causing her to land heavily against the tree.

"Misha, down," she muttered, a pained expression crossing her face. "I told you to go home, you stupid dog."  
"Ain't home without ya," Daryl said before he had a chance to think. This caused both his brother and Harleigh to look at him with disbelief.

* * *

"Ain't home without ya," he said, his eyes locking on mine. I felt my heart flutter in my chest, but quickly masked all emotion. There was no way in hell Daryl Dixon was my knight in shining armor. Was there?

"Shouldn't've come," I muttered. I spared a glance at Misha, who was pressed tightly against my legs, keeping me from falling over. "Told you to go protect Lana," I muttered, scratching behind her ear. She looked up at me knowingly, almost as if she was trying to tell me she knew I needed her help afterall.

I retrieved my bow and arrows, tossed them carelessly over my shoulder, then nodded to the pair of brothers. "Let's go."

I barely acknowledged either of them, until Merle was side by side with me, a troubled look on his face. He didn't say anything until he was right in my ear. He said two words, that coming from a man like him, actually meant a whole lot of something.

"Thank you."

* * *

 **A/N – To Clarify, large italic portions are flash backs, whereas small italic portions are just thoughts. In case you haven't followed me in the past, I wanted to clear that up for you. I also wanted to remind everyone that from this point forward, especially since when this was written originally, it was years before Negan and the Saviors, that I will be skipping huge parts of the series. This is largely due to the fact that I really want to finish this time around and don't want to spend too much time on bits that I wasn't a huge fan of.**


	11. Chapter 10 - Ain't No Hero

As we were walking into the prison, I sent Misha head since she could slide through the bars of the gate that divided our cellblock from the rest of the prison, instructing her to retrieve my small bag. As we approached, I was overly aware that all hell was breaking loose. From what I gathered from Hershel, who was the one who opened the gate, letting the three of us in, the group was debating Merle ever since they left to find me. He threw a heartbroken look at the brothers before explaining that the group seemed to be split about what to do with the rougher older Dixon.

Rick was half in, half out of the conversation, constantly shifting his gaze like he was watching something we couldn't see. Glenn and Maggie were firmly against Merle staying at the prison, whereas Carol and Hershel were arguing his case. I listened numbly. Misha returned to me with my bag, which I rummaged through until I found the bottle of pills I had been saving for an emergency. I popped two, careful not to let anyone else see me.

The argument continued until I finally cleared my throat.

"What?" Glenn asked, throwing me what I can only assume to be a dirty look.  
"Did anyone ever stop to consider the options?" I asked carefully, glancing at the pair who stood awkwardly against the wall. Misha stood beside Daryl, clearly attached to him now. "Did anyone ever stop to think of the options you're all giving Daryl without even seeing it?"  
"What do you mean?" Carol asked me, giving me a hopeful look.

I shook my head. Were these people really that stupid? Were they really this out of tune with human emotions that they couldn't see what they were doing to the one person who time and time again went out of his way to protect this group? I thought Woodbury was fucked up with their logic, but at least the Governor's people, the innocent ones at least, were able to live relatively normal lives, all things considered.

"It shouldn't be a matter of if Merle can stay or not," I said, my tone bitter. "Not if you want Daryl to stay. Merle's his brother. Do ya really think y'all can make him turn his back on that?" The words came out of nowhere. Maybe I was speaking from my own, deeply buried scars, or maybe I still had an ounce of humanity left in my body, unlike these people, who were so willing to turn Merle out.  
"Merle can't stay," Rick said matter-of-factly. "He's dangerous."  
"So am I, so is Michonne. You aren't kicking us out. Shoot, my dog alone is more dangerous than the three of us put together. Misha? She's been bit at least a dozen times. Who's to say she won't turn into Cujo or some shit?" I spat angrily. "Rick, you're dangerous. Glenn's dangerous. Fuck, if I were Hershel, I never woulda let any of you near my family 'fore all this started. Except maybe Daryl," my words continued to pour out, emotion over taking my logical thinking. "Apparently he's the only person in his fucking group that still has a sliver of sanity left!"  
"You don't mean that," Carol said gently. "You're angry over nothin'."  
"Over nothing?" I snapped. "What happened to not turning people away? What happened to humans helping out their own? Y'all are starting to sound like a bunch of hypocrites!"  
"You trust him," Hershel mused. It wasn't a question. "How long have you known him?"  
"All winter," I sighed. "Merle and I went on countless runs together. He always held true to his word if nothing else. He coulda killed me. He had plenty of chances to. But he didn't. He always came through and had my back. Risked his own ass to keep mine alive."

Maggie glanced at me, her expression showing that she was torn. It wasn't Merle who had hurt her. She knew that. She knew in her heart of hearts I was speaking the truth.

"Glenn, she's right," she finally said, her tone gentle.

I didn't say anything, just glared at the members of the group. Each one of them carried a different emotion on their face. Were they really this self-centered? Were they really this willing to lose their own, over a feud that they couldn't put to rest?

I heard Merle say something to Daryl along the lines of "There she goes again, caring way too much." This got a small smile out of Daryl who otherwise looked exhausted and torn. I growled to myself before looking down at the small pair of dogs who were now laying patiently behind me, waiting for my instructions. I pulled my uncle's dog tags out of the bag Misha was still holding, slipped them into my boot, before nodding at Alana who was standing quietly against the wall, watching as the rest of the group continued to argue about Merle.

"C'mon Alana," I called to her softly. She ran to my side, taking my hand in hers. "We're going."  
"Where're you going?" Rick demanded, his tone bitter.  
"The watch tower," I said just as bitterly. "Until things get sorted out down here, I have no interest in sticking around. If you're still up on your high horse in the morning, Alana and I will be taking our leave."  
"You can't leave," he growled.

Something snapped. Something snapped deeply buried under months of torture and pain. I lunged at him, my arm holding his throat against the wall. My knife was drawn and level with his forehead.

"Don't you dare," I hissed, seeing red. "Don't you dare."  
"C'mon Leigh, he ain't worth the air he breathes," Merle's warning tone broke through my anger. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Daryl's troubled face as he tried to lead me away from his leader. With one last warning glance at Rick, I turned away from him, nodding at the pack, my hand finding Alana's. I led the way out of the common room. We made our way to the watch tower, where I told Alana to sleep while I kept watch. Blade and Misha kept pacing, both tense and antsy from the events of the day. I think we all were.

What was happening? To me? To the group? To any of us? Were we all losing our grip on reality? Were we all going crazy with grief and trauma that we couldn't get a handle on what was going on around us? Could one man be blamed for all of that?

I owed Merle more than I cared to admit. He'd helped me countless times in Woodbury, in his own cruel, emotionless way. He'd kept me strong without realizing it. He'd kept me out of the arena when the Governor thought it would be funny to stick me out to die. I wasn't about to turn away from that. And Daryl. God, Daryl was proving to be my lifeline. If he hadn't stepped up when he did, who knew where Alana and I would be. Was Rick really stupid enough to turn his back on a friend, an ally, like that? A friend that kept his little girl alive when he was too broken to do so himself? A friend who time and time again would risk everything for the greater good? Where did Glenn get off spitting demands? Sure, I'd seen Glenn take walkers out on the fence, but what else was he good for? Screwing Maggie? Surely she could find someone else to meet _that_ need. He had no right walking around like he was some kind of hero.

For the first time, I found myself missing Woodbury. At least behind those walls, we settled things in the arena. We didn't turn on own just because.

Maybe there was something to be said about this group. Maybe, first impressions weren't everything. Rick seemed to have it together a day ago, now, well now he was as cold as the Governor was insane.

I pondered this thought as I kept watch for what seemed like an eternity. I didn't move from my perch in one of the chairs that overlooked the front of the prison. Alana had fallen asleep hours before. The silence that followed was welcoming and eerie at the same time. It wasn't until I heard footsteps approaching that my attention shifted. The door opened, causing me to turn around slowly, only to find Daryl looking at me with a strange expression on his face.

"Rick wants to send him away," he said, his tone barely audible.  
"He'd be stupid in doing so," I sighed. I let my gaze return to the fence. "Glenn's down there whispering orders in his ear again."  
"You caught on pretty fast," Daryl noted.  
"You learn to read people when you're constantly on the run," I shrugged. "What about you? Are you going to leave if they send Merle off?"  
"He's blood," Daryl nodded. "I don't want to, but I gotta."  
"I know," I agreed. I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time. I felt the need to need someone. I looked up at Daryl, surprised to see a torn look on his face. "If you leave, I'm coming with."  
"Why?" he asked, taken by surprise.  
"I owe you and your brother too much not to. Besides, Alana's taken a shining to you," I said slowly, glancing down at the sleeping child. "Between the three of us and the dogs, we'll find something, somewhere safe to hold up for a while.  
"Rick won't let you leave," he countered cautiously.  
"Rick don't own me," I growled in spite of myself.  
"Merle said you've always been a loud spitfire. You've been quiet up till now, why?" he asked me, his eyes shining with genuine curiosity.  
"Didn't have a choice," I shrugged. "Now I do. I think Rick's stupid to cut you and Merle loose. If anyone's gonna survive this, it's the two of you."  
"Ya think so?" he asked me. He didn't seem so confident.  
"Of course," I forced a smile. "Merle's a cruel man, but I've got enough faith in him to know that there's good in there somewhere, deep down. And you…well you're a hero Daryl Dixon."  
"Ain't no hero," he muttered, looking down at his feet. In the dim light, I could see him blush.  
"You are, Daryl, whether you believe it or not, ya are."  
"Ain't no hero."

He sat down on the floor across from Alana, his eyes still locked at the ground. For the first time since meeting the Dixon brothers, I finally got to see a softer side. Daryl didn't want to leave any more than the group wanted him to. It seemed to me like he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Maybe after sleeping on it, Rick would change his mind. He'd be stupid not to. The group needed Daryl and if that meant keeping Merle too, they'd just have to suck it up and deal. That's what families do for each other and wasn't it Rick who said that this group, these people, were family to him? Kin defends kin, it's just the way it is. 


	12. Chapter 11 - Late Night Stroll

I wasn't even aware that I had fallen asleep until Alana's loud shriek woke me with a jerk. I'd fallen asleep against Daryl, who at one point or another had drifted off too. Blade's loud barking made me reach for my knife in the darkness, nearly punching Daryl In my haste to find the flashlight.

"Alana? Alana what's wrong?" I shouted over her cries. Misha whined, stuck under the chair, her collar having gotten tangled in her haste to reach my screaming daughter. I freed her in a swift movement, just as Daryl managed to flip on his flashlight, shining it brightly in the direction of the screams. Alana was thrashing in her sleep, her screams still loud, urgent, vibrating off the metal walls.

When it dawned on me that she was still asleep, I threw my arms around her, pressing my face against her head, murmuring sweet words, rocking her back and forth, refusing to let the little girl's thrashes get any worse. After a few more moments of uncontrollable screaming, she finally settled down, her heart racing so hard I could feel it against my body.

"Easy, baby, I've got you," I cooed. "Wake up, I'm right here." Daryl's eyes were wide as he watched the scene unfold. Finally, Alana opened her eyes. Fear was written all over her face.  
"Mommy?"  
"Hey, pretty one, how're you feeling?" I asked, smoothing back her hair.  
"Sleepy," she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "What's wrong?"  
"You had another night terror, don't you remember sweetheart?" I asked her gently. She never remembered. It was almost more terrifying than the walkers that crowded the fence. She'd have an episode every few weeks. Scared the hell out of me the first time it happened.  
"Sorry," her tone was soft. She leaned back, already drifting to sleep.  
"Don't be doll," I said gently. I kissed the top of her head.  
"Mommy?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Sing that song, please?" her tone was so innocent, I didn't have the heart to deny her request. I pulled her even closer, rocking her slowly back and forth as the words tumbled out of my mouth in the same soft, motherly tone I used when I would sing it to Brooke before she died.

"Wish upon a shooting star,  
For better days to come,  
Little ones from long before  
The laughter ceased to swell

Bring not the fear of times now gone,  
But joy and peace and love,  
And know that thou are not alone,  
For they watch from up above.

Sleep my sweetest flower,  
For dawn is soon to come,  
And listen as the world goes soft,  
The snow, the peace, the love.

Dream a dream worth dreaming,  
To chase away the pain,  
Listen to the butterflies, they're singing,  
They flutter in spite of rain.

Wish upon that shooting star,  
For better days to come,  
Where the smiles, they stay, so pure, so true,  
Remember, I've always got you."

By the time the song ended, she was fast asleep, her head resting on my chest. I smiled down at her, brushing the stray strand of hair out of her face. Daryl watched in silence, his stance tense.

"She's alright," I reassured him. "Sorry she woke you."  
"Don't be," he muttered, relaxing just slightly. "You two should go down and get some sleep, I'll keep watch."  
"Don't be stupid," I said with a slight smile. He looked ready to fall asleep standing up. "Besides, I like it up here." The cool breeze made me feel safe somehow. "I don't want to be down there when everyone wakes up anyway."  
"I know whatcha mean," he said with a small smirk.  
"How'd I end up on the floor anyway?" I asked. Last thing I remember was watching the walkers claw at the fence, perched carelessly in the chair, not on the floor cuddled up to the dirty redneck.  
"Ya practically fell outta the chair," he chuckled. "Decided ya needed some sleep. Guess I did too."

I pulled the thin blanket around Alana before slowly standing up, patting Blade's head to reassure him that everything was alright before turning back to Daryl.

"I'm gonna take the dogs down for a quick break, mind keeping an eye on her?" I asked. I knew by how antsy Misha was, that she needed a chance to stretch her legs and relieve herself. Blade could definitely use the same. He was still tense from earlier.  
"What if she has another night terror?" Daryl asked, his tone uncertain as he glanced down at the sleeping child.  
"She won't." I assured him. "They don't happen often. Even if she does, it'll pass quickly, just keep her from thrashing around too much."  
"Uh…" he didn't look too convinced. "I can take the dogs down if that's what this is all about?"  
"Daryl, she'll be fine," I said again, beginning to get a little frustrated with the debate. "Unless you want me stumbling around in the dark with a sleeping child in my arms?" I cocked an eyebrow. He grumbled something under his breath but stopped arguing with me. At least he was smart enough to know better than to argue with a woman!

I quickly made my way down the stairs before he could come up with another reason I shouldn't. The dogs were at my side, eager to get some fresh air. Once we were outside, the moans of the walkers grew louder. I stiffened, allowing my eyes and ears a moment to adjust before letting both dogs take off into the darkness. I smiled at the pair as they frolicked across the prison yard, careless and free as dogs should be, not tethered and dressed to kill.

It amazed me how calm the night was, despite everything that had happened the day before. Even Daryl seemed a tiny bit happier, despite his brother's status being up for debate. I couldn't help but wish I could get a glimpse into the gruff man's head.

I found myself admiring how he was with Alana. He was so concerned by her night terror that it just felt right to trust him to watch her. Even though I barely knew the man, I'd known his brother long enough to know that there was something about those two and it went way past their ability to survive in a world this messed up. It was something more. Something buried deep down beneath those tough exteriors, where very few people got to see.

"Late night stroll?" A familiar voice asked. I jumped slightly, startled by the sudden break in the silence.  
"The dogs needed a break," I explained.  
"That lil' girl of yours woke up the whole prison," Merle said slyly.  
"Did she?" I groaned. Now I _had_ to go face the group. It wasn't likely that Rick would let screaming like that go unexplained.  
"Don't sound so annoyed," he chuckled. "I explained Lanny's lil' night terrors, no need to worry."  
"Thank you," I managed to smile. Merle rarely used his nickname for Alana anymore. Only when he was truly concerned about the little girl's wellbeing. It was one of the nicer things the bitter, ex-drug addict had done. He started calling her Lanny the same day he brought her the scrappy old teddy bear he found on one of our supply runs. Even though Merle was not someone I would have even bothered with before the world went to shit, for some reason, I kept on fighting for that man. In a way, I really thought it was because he reminded me of my brother in the months leading up to his death.

"She's a good kid," he shrugged, breaking me of my thoughts. "Shame she has to grow up like this."  
"Shame anyone has to grow up like this," I agreed. I hesitated for a moment as he started to walk away. "Hey, Merle?"  
"Yeah?" he turned back to me.  
"Why'd you do it? Back in Woodbury The night Alana and me broke out. Why'd you cover for me?" I asked. When we were walking back to the prison, Merle had filled me in on the night I left.  
"Did it for selfish reasons, really," he shrugged. "Figured you might find my brother if I let you leave."  
"I didn't even know his name," I scoffed. "Really Merle, why'd you do it?"  
"Cause you taught me somethin' no one else ever could," he said, his tone barely audible over the moans of the walkers. He looked down at his knifed hand before looking me dead in the eyes. "Ya taught me how to _care_."


	13. Chapter 12 - Truth And Lies

Merle decided to follow me back to the watch tower after our conversation. He was quiet, which said a lot about what he was thinking about. Merle was never quiet. As soon as I sat down beside Alana, Daryl smiled slightly, telling me she slept soundly while I was gone. I nodded, pulling Blade into my lap, his dark, thick fur providing little warmth against the cool spring air.

"You cold?" Daryl asked softly, seeing my shiver against the dog's body.  
"A little," I admitted in spite of myself.  
"Here," Daryl said as he shrugged off his jacket. I was about to object, but he tossed it to me, giving me little choice. The warmth radiated off the fabric. I pulled it around myself, letting the warmth ease the chill from my bones.  
"Thanks," I said softly, a yawn playing on my lips. My eyes felt heavy with sleep. Without meaning to, I snuggled into the jacket, letting the warmth lull me to sleep.

When morning came, I found myself regretting sleeping on the hard floor. My body was stiff and an unnatural chill had seeped into my bones, making my joints creak when I tried to move. Alana was half on my lap, half in Daryl's, her head resting against his chest. Blade was sprawled out at our feet, his tail thumping softly against my leg. Misha, on the other hand, was standing guard, her eyes watching for any sign of movement from where she stood beside Merle, who was snoring loudly in the chair, his body at an awkward angle. Daryl was staring down at me, his blue eyes dancing with amusement, a sly smile playing on his lips.

"What?" I spat, trying to work the sniffness out of my neck.  
"You talk in your sleep," he said softly, the smile still remaining.  
"I do?" I squeaked. I struggled to remember what I had been dreaming about.  
"Uh-huh," he said, amused. I felt heat rising to my cheeks as I looked away. Blade looked at me with hungry, eager eyes. The way Misha shifted made me assume she was hungry too.

I looked down at the little girl who looked so peaceful in our laps before shaking her gently.

"Wake up, sweetie," I told her gently. "It's morning."  
"Just a little longer," she mumbled, pulling the blanket over her head.  
"Uh-uh, kiddo, rise and shine," I said tiredly, pulling the blanket off of her, gently rolling her into my lap so Daryl could get up.  
"Why?" she asked tiredly, blinking against the bright sunlight.  
"Time to eat," I said softly, overly aware of how thin the little girl was. "The dogs are hungry too."  
"Mmm," she muttered, burying her face into my chest before slowly standing up, shivering against the cool morning air.

I stood up, stretching my aching bones. I ruffled her hair before trying to work the last of the stiffness out of my back, overly aware that my side ached something fierce.

"Be down in the common room in five minutes," I told Alana as I clipped the leashes to the dogs' collars, leading them towards the stairs. Daryl gave a slight nod, letting me know he would make sure she got there in time.

Once we made it outside, I let the dogs run loose while I observed various members of the group tending their morning chores, up early despite the happenings of the night before. Maggie and Carol were taking out walkers on the fence while Rick paced the grounds, a crazed look in his eyes. Glenn was hovering, not really doing much of anything. I could see Beth at the entrance, baby Judith in her arms. Carl stood nearby, watching his baby sister with a strained expression. I didn't need to be told to know what was going on.

"Merle's to leave today," Glenn told me with a stern look. "We can't keep him here."  
"Like hell," I shot back. Misha came back to my side, a growl rising in her chest. "Whose decision was that?"  
"It was a group decision," Glenn said hesitantly, shrinking back just slightly.  
"Uh-huh, I'm sure it was," I spat.  
"Why are you so hung up on him anyway? Is it 'cause you have a thing for Daryl?" Glenn shot back.  
"What? No!" I spat, my patience running thin. "I couldn't care less if Merle's Daryl's brother!"  
"Right, so you just pick all the assholes to defend, huh?" he growled, his face reddening with rage.  
"You're a sick man, Glenn," I muttered. "My daughter and I will be moving on as well then."  
"You can't leave!" Rick shouted, coming up to us, his hands balled into fists. My eyes shot to his hand before meeting his gaze.  
"Threatening girls now are we, Officer Friendly?" Merle snarled, coming up behind me, Daryl close behind, Alana hiding behind him.  
"Ain't a threat," Rick growled. "No one but you's leavin' today."  
"Can't do that, Rick," Glenn said gently. "We all know if Merle leaves, Daryl's gonna follow him."  
"Harleigh and the girl stay," Rick snarled. He raised his fist, only to meet a very angry, crossbow wielding man in his face.  
"Back off Rick," Daryl said firmly. I shrank back, not entirely ready to be attacked by an ex-cop.  
"Two hours and I want you out," Rick growled at Merle. He shrugged, not all too concerned about Rick's demand.  
"Fine," he said, turning on his heel. Blade followed after him, making it very clear which group he trusted more. I said nothing as I nudged Alana towards the cellblock, where we quickly threw what little we had into our bags.

"Mommy, I thought it was safe here?" she asked me as she hugged her teddy bear close.  
"So did I, Lana," I told her, my tone emotionless. "Pack up your clothes, c'mon now, we're leaving."  
"But mom…" tears filled her eyes.  
"We'll be safe, don't you worry," I assured her. I slipped my coat on, securing as much as I could carry to my bag.

"Harleigh, can I have a word?" Carol's soft, motherly tone called from outside our cell. I really didn't care to hear what the woman had to say, but I figured it was worth a few minutes of my time. I spared a glance at Alana, who was busy tucking her clothes into her bag, Misha standing beside her, always watching, always protective of the little girl. Blade could be heard out in the common room, no doubt up on the perch with the brothers. With a deep sigh, I stood up, my knife carefully hidden in my waistband, just in case the conversation went south. I followed Carol over to the wall, where she looked at me with troubled eyes.

"Listen, Harleigh, there's something I've wanted to get off my chest since you arrived," she said softly, almost as if she were afraid to piss me off. I couldn't help but smile to myself, it seemed almost ironic that this strong, relatively fearless woman was afraid of me. I wasn't a horrible person for thinking such thoughts, I was a realist. This woman showed no fear for crushing other people's emotions, yet here she stood, fumbling over her words while trying to talk to me.

"Make it fast, Carol, I've got things to pack." I said impatiently.  
"It's about Daryl," her tone changing to one of bitterness. My heart dropped. What had I done wrong now?

I waited patiently for Carol to say whatever it was she had to say. I wasn't too eager to leave the prison, but somehow, the whole mess seemed so forced, so insane, that it almost made me regret following my dogs in the first place. Carol paced for a few moments, like a lion trapped in a cage. I felt helpless, like I was about to get scolded by an angry teacher. Misha chocked her head, watching us from across the room. She seemed to sense the tension between us.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she finally asked, her tone tripping with venom. "Going around planting seeds of doubt in everyone's heads, especially Daryl's!"  
"Excuse me?" I asked, stunned. What on earth was this woman going on about? What doubts have I given anyone?  
"You come here looking like a train wreck, spewing a sob story about how awful Woodbury was, how much you hated those people, how much they hurt you and that little girl, then you get reunited with the man 'o the hour and suddenly, you're playing wild card? You're siding with Merle and letting Daryl do the same! You haven't been here all of two weeks! Who are you to get a vote? To get an opinion? You're nothing but a bottom feeding whore who likes to suck the life outta this entire group!" she shouted loudly, causing me to flinch back. Her words stung. She was wrong. So truly and utterly wrong.  
"What's your deal, Carol? Jealous Daryl has a heart and you're not the only person he saved? Jealous that my little girl took a shining to him? Jealous that I'm woman enough to own my past, own my scars and carry my damn weight, instead of needing someone to take care of me all the goddamned time?" I let anger pour into my words as I took a step towards her. "Wake up, Carol. Daryl's not your little puppy dog to boss around and demand attention from. He's a grown ass man. His brother? Merle? The man you swear to hate so much? He's more a man than most. He's not afraid to do what has to be done to stay alive!"  
"You're such a hypocrite Harleigh! You come in here talkin' about peace and unity, yet here you are splitting this group up! Daryl's family! We need him here! _I_ need him here!" she screamed. She blinked, realizing the words she just said.  
"So _that's_ what this is all about," I said, amused. "News flash, Carol, you're creepy. You're so overbearing, it's sickening. Fuck, I don't even hover over my child like you do with him. He's not a little broken boy that needs a mother to coddle him, Carol. He doesn't _need you_!"  
"You're just pissed because I'm right," Carol scolded. "Open your eyes, Harleigh, you're an outsider here. No one gives a rats ass if you drop off the face of the planet. You and Merle? You're two of the same. Cold, heartless people who deserve nothing but the worst in life. Daryl will never care about you like he cares about me. He's not capable of caring that much."

Her words cut me like a knife. I would have clobbered her, had it not been for my strong sense of self-control. Instead, I glared at her until I could even out my breathing.

"You know what, Carol? Go to hell," I spat. I went to turn away, but she grabbed my arm, pulling me towards her.  
"Been ta hell and back," she hissed in my ear. "At least I've got a guardian angel watching my back. Who's watching _yours_?"

I wheeled away from her, the need for air almost sending me into a panic. I looked at Beth, who was already in my cell talking to Alana in a soft tone.

"Can you watch her for a few minutes?" I asked her, my voice hitching as I made my way over to the pair. Beth nodded, a troubled look crossing her face.  
"Don't pay her any mind," she said softly. She went back to entertaining Alana, giving me a chance to make a run for it.

I felt like I was back in Woodbury, only ten times worse. Disgusting men who needed a quick fix? I could handle that. Being threatened and raped in an ally? I could live with that. Having to turn my back on people I cared about? I could handle that too. Being point blank threatened and not having the will to put an end to it? That was the cowardly way out and it pissed me off beyond belief. Where I should have been packing my things, I instead found myself taking all my pent up anger out on the walkers, no regards to the danger looming overhead.

I heard a familiar pair of footfalls approaching, but didn't let it break my rhythm. I kept plunging my knife into the skulls of the undead, the crack, the crunch almost comforting. Misha walked at my side, her eyes glancing behind us at the approaching steps.

I was about to plunge the knife into another head when something caught my eye. I looked at this walker for a moment, trying to figure out why it looked familiar. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. It was Addison, one of the younger women from Woodbury – one of the few people I really got to know while we were there. I felt all the wind get knocked out of me as my knees gave way, everything finally catching up with me all at once. I struggled to try and recover from the shock, but it wasn't as easy as it once was. This prison, these people, they managed to break down the walls that I built around myself, just to tear me up like some sort of savage monster.

"Whoa, easy there Leigh," Daryl's soft voice broke through the haze. I blinked, fighting back tears as he wrapped his arms protectively around me. He pulled me away from the fence, not letting go until he had us behind the overturned bus. He knelt in front of me, his blue eyes full of concern.

"C'mon, can't have you fallin' apart on us now," he chided softly. "What's wrong?"  
"What isn't wrong?" I asked him, my voice hitching in my throat.  
"Merle overhead what Carol said to you," he said gently, though I could see anger sparking in his eyes. "She's wrong, ya know that, right? She's wrong Harleigh."  
"Maybe," I shrugged. I wasn't really taking in what he was saying anymore.  
"Harleigh, look at me," he demanded. His tone was firm, yet gentle enough. His hand reached up, cupping my chin in a rough, calloused hand. I met his gaze, seeing nothing but compassion and concern behind those beautiful blue hues. "She's wrong."

I was about to pull away when the next thing I knew, his lips were pressed firmly against mine, his hand now at the back of my head. I felt my heart skip a beat. I returned the kiss, guarding every move. When he broke away, I felt heat rush up my face. Daryl smirked at me, the sideways, half smile that could stop hearts. I looked at him with wide eyes, not entirely sure what to make of the whole situation.

"Harleigh, she's wrong," he repeated again.

I wanted to believe him. Deep in my heart, I knew he was right. Somehow, I couldn't bring myself to believe a word he said. It was his actions that left me believing him. The way his lips pressed so tightly against mine, the way his warmth radiated off his body, sending a shiver up my spine. His strong, protective hands gripping at the back of my head, keeping me in place. That's what made me believe him.

It was there, behind an overturned bus, in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, with the threat of the unknown looming overhead, that I finally admitted my feelings for the crossbow wielding redneck, if only to myself.

"C'mon kiddies, let's get this show on the road," Merle's snide tone rang out across the field, causing Daryl and I both to scramble to our feet. I saw him carrying a small bag, Alana following behind him. "Got all the stuff in the van, who's riding with who?" he asked, laughing at the looks on mine and Daryl's faces. We exchanged a look before following the older Dixon. Misha and Blade trotted over, eager to finally be out of the confines of the prison. With one final look at the prison and the people we were leaving behind, I buckled Alana into the back seat of the old van before nodding at the dogs to get in.

"I'll take the bike for the first leg, we'll switch off every couple hours," I suggested. "This way if things get hairy, I can lead the walkers away with the dogs." As soon as I said that, Misha jumped out of the van, eager to be a part of this journey.  
"Fine with me," Merle nodded, surprising me with the lack of argument. "I don't mind this kid, she's pretty tough." He smiled at Alana.  
"I trust you not to get her killed," I said, only half joking. "'sides, my dogs'll tear you a new asshole if you hurt her." Misha growled softly to back up my statement, causing Merle to chuckle.  
"Don't get your panties in a jumble," he chuckled before nodding at Daryl. "Lead the way, baby brother."

Daryl got into the driver's side of the van, Merle sitting shotgun. I mounted the bike, vaguely remembering the last time I was on a motorcycle. I kicked it to life, content with the loud roar it made. I looked around, sparing one last glance over my shoulder. Carol was glaring at me, her arms crossed across her chest. I couldn't help but smile as we tore off through the gates. It was bittersweet. As much as I wanted to stay, I wanted to leave all the same. These people, the ones we were leaving behind, they weren't the people I thought they were. The two bother on the other hand, one which protected me when I needed protecting and the other, who cared from day one, were all the human company I needed outside of Alana. Fuck Rick, fuck his group. The six of us were better off on our own anyway.

 _You can't trust no one these days,_ I thought to myself as we drove down the dust covered road, waving around walkers and debris. Misha ran beside the bike just as she had the day we arrived at the prison. The difference this time was I wasn't riding on a rundown motorcycle that didn't have breaks, so I wouldn't almost die this time. This was where it was all meant to end. Or begin, depending on how you looked at it, I suppose.


	14. Chapter 13 - Can't Catch a Break

We'd been driving for a good six hours without much action. We had to stop twice, once to fix a flat tire on the van, thanks to Daryl's careless driving and again to retrieve my bow when it went flying behind me after I hit a walker's leg the wrong way with the bike. Other than that, it had been quiet. And then, without any warning, everything went downhill.

For whatever reason, Misha, who was more than used to running alongside motorcycles, decided to veer in front of me, causing me to swerve to avoid hitting her. The movement alone was enough to throw me from the bike, but instead, it resulted in me getting smashed into the side of the van, causing a near head on collision. I skidded with the bike across the pavement, rocks and dirt cutting into my skin. I bit back a scream as the bike pinned my legs to the ground, leaving me defenseless against the small herd of walkers the noise had attracted. Thankfully, Merle and Daryl were fast. As soon as I went down, they were out of the van, putting a quick end to the walkers before turning their attention to me.

"Anything broke?" Daryl asked, kneeling beside me. His eyes were wild with worry. I groaned and tried to move my legs but it was hopeless with the weight of the bike pinning me to the concrete.

"Won't know till the damn bike's off me," I managed to mutter. I was dizzy from the collision, but still well enough to feel the pain sheering through my body. Merle and Daryl carefully removed the bike. As soon as my legs were free, I ran my hands down them, grateful that there were no major injuries. A sharp pain in my side made me see stars, reminding me of the cut I'd gotten the last time I crashed a bike. I pressed my hand to my wounded side, shocked by how much blood was seeping out through the fabric. I could feel every breath I took. I bit back a scream as I carefully peeled my shirt away, clamping my hand down on it to slow the bleeding while I tried to assess the damage.

"Bike's still good!" Merle called out excitedly.  
"Good," I muttered through clenched teeth. "Daryl, tell me ya got a steady hand on ya," I breathed. I was struggling to focus on the pavement in front of my face. I couldn't remember if I hit my head on the way down. If I did, odds were it was just going to add to the damage already done to my brain.  
"You pack a first aid kit?" he asked, his eyes hopeful.  
"Think I'd leave without one?" I muttered, nodding towards the van. "While you're there, tell Lana to stay put, that I'm fine."

Daryl did as I asked, returning a moment later with my bag. After a few moments of digging around, he located the kit and pulled out a needle and some fish line.

I turned away as he quickly stitched the wound. I knew it wasn't nearly as clear or secure as Hershel could have done, but it was something. At least I wouldn't bleed to death. Once Daryl was content with his work, he set to searching my head for any sign of injury. I was sure he was thinking the same thing I was.

"Blood loss?" Merle suggested, coming to kneel next to me, a troubled look on his face.  
"Let's hope so," I muttered. I was tired. God, was I tired.  
"I think she hit her head," Daryl said, his tone sounding more worried than it should have.  
Merle muttered something but I couldn't make it out.

"Mommy?" Alana's sad voice called from the van. Before I could respond, Blade was bounding towards me, a low growl escaping his lips as he pushed his way between me and Daryl, lying protectively at my wounded side.  
"I'm okay Lana," I called. "Stay in the car." Naturally, the little girl didn't listen. A moment later, she was kneeling next to me.  
"Mommy," she said, burying her face into my chest. I groaned, her tiny body sending the pain rippling through my body.  
"We can't stay here," Merle muttered, glancing around.  
"Hold up, Merle," Daryl muttered, his hand now on my wrist.  
"He's right," I agreed. "We need to move. How bad's the van?"  
"Can't get it to start," Merle muttered with a shake of his head. It was then that I noticed the cloud of smoke coming from the engine. When we hit, we must have knocked something loose. There wasn't time to figure it out right then. "Looks like we're walking."  
"Awesome," I muttered. "Misha, get your ass over here!" I called to the dog. Much to my disbelief, she didn't come. She didn't even so much as let me know where she was. Blade looked up, his ears back. Something was wrong. I knew something was wrong the moment Misha darted in front of the bike. She's not a stupid dog. She knew how to respect the road. We spend enough time training her to know better.

"Misha?" I called out a little louder. I tried to look around but the slightest turn of my head send the world slipping in and out of focus. "Shit," I muttered, struggling to see straight.  
"Harleigh?" Daryl's frantic cry barely registered. I felt something prop me up, but it did nothing for the splitting headache or the ringing in my ears. The world slipped in and out of focus so quickly, it took all my strength just to remember how to breathe.  
"We gotta move!" Merle's panicked cry rang out. "We've got company and lots of it!"  
"She's blacking out over here," Daryl called back. I felt him pull me up against him, my feet barely even able to attempt to hold my weight. "Merle, find somewhere to hold up and for god's sake, keep that kid safe!"

"Blade, shelter," I managed to whisper. The dog brushed against me before taking off into the trees, his barks coming in short, high bursts, leading the way through the woods.

I leaned heavily on Daryl, my stomach churning. We stumbled and ultimately ended up in the dirt, which caused Daryl to let loose a line of colorful words before he scooped me up in his arms, bridal style, his pace now faster than before.

"Don't you die on me, Harleigh, don't you dare," he breathed, holding me tight against his body. The last conscious thought I had was how on earth was Merle going to keep Alana safe if he was fending off walkers too?

* * *

"Daryl, we can't stay here much longer," Merle's tired, strained voice broke through the darkness. "It's now or never."  
"She didn't turn her back on you, now you're thinkin' of doing just that to her?" Daryl snarled.  
"It's not like that," his brother sighed. "She wouldn't want us to get ourselves killed for her. Trust me, I know 'er well enough to know that."  
"We ain't leaving yet," Daryl said firmly. I felt something cool brush against my forehead. I groaned softly, trying to force my eyes to open. Once they did, for the first time in a long time, I was able to see more clearly, making out the concerned expression on Daryl's face.

"Hey," I muttered, my voice hoarse.  
"Hey," he said softly, a smile playing on his lips.  
"Where Lana?" I asked, trying to sit up. Daryl's hand pushed me back down, his eyes flashing with something I couldn't quite place.  
"She's fine," he said softly, nodding towards Merle. To my surprise, the little girl was snuggled up beside the bitter man, her hair a mess, her hands tightly gripping his shirt.  
"Of course she is," Merle said with a snide smile. "Didn't need ya comin' to and killin' us for losing your lil' girl, now did we?"

I forced a smile, allowing myself to look over to Blade, who was sitting patiently by the door. He looked exhausted and troubled. They all did.

"Misha?"

"Uh…" Daryl scratched the back of his head, struggling to find words to explain what had happened. "Found out why she darted in front of the bike," he said carefully. "That herd was bigger than we expected. She led them away and…"  
"She's dead," it wasn't a question. I pressed my eyes shut, forcing myself not to let the emotions cloud my judgement. "How long was I out?"  
"Thirteen hours, give or take," he explained. "Was real worried when you stopped wakin' up."  
"Sorry," I muttered. "Didn't expect Misha to go nuts."  
"None of us expected you to collide with the van," Merle chuckled. "You're tough though. Somethin' like that woulda killed sane person."  
"Callin' me insane now, Dixon?" I spat, fighting against Daryl's hand. He looked at me for a moment, before seeming to sense that there was no use keeping me down. I saw up and glared at the older brother before swinging my legs over the side of the couch, much too fast for my still fuzzy head. My vision blurred and I'm sure I would have fallen over had Daryl not been watching my ever move.

"No more slick stunts," Merle chuckled. "You ain't invincible."  
"Ehh," I muttered. I pressed my head into my hands, willing the room to stop spinning. "How long she's been asleep?"  
"A few hours," Daryl said. "We all needed a rest, figured this place would work for tonight."  
"Leavin' first thin' in the morning," Merle said. "Now shut up and go to sleep."

I chuckled to myself before using Daryl as leverage as I forced myself to my feet. He wrapped an arm around me, but said nothing as I made for the door. Blade darted out before me, Daryl a step behind. As soon as the cool air hit my face, my vision blurred.

"Oh boy, this is gonna be a fun trip," I muttered. I leaned heavily against Daryl, waiting for the dizziness to pass.  
"You good?" he asked, his tone too gentle.  
"'m fine," I murmured. It was a lie and he knew it. I swayed and despite, despite being pressed against his side. I felt sick to my stomach. Everything ached. For a moment, I found myself wishing I was still in the prison. At least there, I wasn't getting through into vans or pinned under bikes.

"C'mon, you need rest," he tried to reason and he slowly sat me down on the steps.  
"I'll rest when I'm dead," I countered. I pulled a smashed pack of cigarettes out of my pocket, along with my old zippo lighter. I lit one before handing the pack to Daryl.  
"Smokin' with a concussion's not gonna do ya a whole lotta good," he noted.  
"Neither is getting a concussion when you already have a brain injury," I countered. "I'll be fine in the morning."  
"Sure hope so. Merle's getting antsy," Daryl said, his tone still soft. I spared a glance at him and saw how worn out he was. He looked exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I leaned against his arm, offering the tiniest bit of comfort. I had a feeling the poor man hadn't gotten much sleep since the night before and even then, I knew he didn't sleep much when we were up there either.

"It's gonna be alright," I mused. "The five of us, we're gonna be okay." Blade looked at me with sad eyes, clearly lost without his leader. I patted my bruised leg, willing the faithful canine over to us. He leaned against my other side, his tail wagging against the wooden stairs. "We're gonna be okay," I said again, taking a long drag from the cigarette, watching as the smoke slowly faded into the night's sky.

Somehow, deep down, I knew we'd be okay. It was almost as if the last 48 hours had been a test. A test to see where our loyalties lied and to see if we were really going to make it. An argument, banishment, and a concussion later and here we were, sittin' out on the steps of an abandoned cabin, a cigarette in our hands. Yeah, we were going to be just fine. But then, with Merle's attitude, Daryl's stubbornness, my recklessness and Lana's youth, anything was possible.

As I flicked the butt aside and stared up at the stars above, I said a silent prayer to whoever was listening. All we could do was hope that this was the end of the misfortune for a while. Unfortunately, god wasn't listening that night.


	15. Chapter 14 - Unlikely Heroes

"Harleigh, you need to wake up," a gruff voice begged. I groaned and shifted just slightly, too tired to open my eyes. I felt a hand reach for my forehead, causing to me flinch back, more out of instinct than anything else.

"She's warm,' the voice mused, full of concern. "We can't move her like this."  
"We can't stay here, baby brother, we had an agreement," another voice countered.  
"Mommy? Mom, you gotta wake up," a young, beautiful voice begged. I groaned again, this time forcing my eyes to open. My vision blurred against the bright sunlight, but eventually, I was able to make out the faces of Daryl, Merle and Alana.

"Morning already?" I croaked, my voice hoarse. Daryl passed me a bottle of water, concern written all over his face.  
"Yeah," he nodded, his eyes watching every movement as I slowly sat up, taking tiny sips from the bottle. My stomach twisted in knots the moment the cool liquid hit it I felt like death. Every inch of my body ached worse than ever before and I knew it would only take one more accident before it finally killed me. I didn't fight Daryl when he pressed his hand to my forehead again, his face twisting with an unexplained expression.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his hand slowly moving to my shoulder. Gosh, his hand felt so heavy. Like it weighed a million pounds.  
"Like hell," I admitted. I could barely see straight, the floor kept slipping in and out of focus. I knew it had to be from the concussion. It wasn't the first time since the initial injury that I got knocked around enough to be out of commission for a few days.  
"Do you think…" he looked torn. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Do you think you can walk at all?"  
"You heard Merle, we had an agreement," I said, careful to not move too much. Every movement send a wave of nausea through my stomach. I fought against the feeling, carefully rising to my feet, one hand rested on Daryl's arm to keep myself level. "Gon' have'ta go slow thought," I murmured, overly aware that my words were coming out slurred. My stomach twisted at the thought of running all day. I leaned heavily against Daryl, for the millionth time grateful for his loyalty. My body slowly started going numb. It terrified me.

"When I went down…I-I didn't get bit, right?" I asked nervously. Something wasn't right. I'd had my fair share of concussion both before and after the brain injury. I'd fallen out of trees and whacked my head a lot harder than this and was back up in 'em the next day. This was different. This felt completely unnatural. I groaned as my insides twisted again, causing me to double over in pain. Daryl supported my weight as he gently pushed me back onto the couch, his free hand on my forehead.

"You're warm," he muttered. I groaned and threw a glance at Merle, who looked just as worried as Daryl did.  
"Take…" every breath hurt. "Take Lana outside. Let Blade run 'round or somethin'," I barely got the words out before another wave of nausea hit me, causing me to double over, dry heaving violently. Much to my surprise, Merle listened.  
"'C'mon, lil' lady, let's get some sunshine, it smells in here," I heard him say. A moment later, I heard the door close as the trio made for the yard. Daryl squatted in front of me, his hand on my shoulders.

"Leigh, you need to talk to me," he murmured softly, a hand brushing my cheek. I groaned and leaned towards him, needing to feel something solid, something to ground myself again, something real. My head throbbed worse than it did the day I _literally_ cracked my head open. My stomach was in knots. Every movement sent a new wave of torture through my body.  
"Was I bit?" I asked again, tears in my eyes, fear causing my heart to race. My breathing started to come in rushed, panicked gasps. I struggled to get enough air, which made me feel even worse than I already did.  
"Leigh, you need'ta calm down," he coaxed. This was out of his comfort zone. He didn't know how to help. "Easy, breathe," he murmured, his hand still on my cheek. "Breathe."

I took several deep, shaky breaths before I was able to breathe normally again. The entire situation left me feeling weak and helpless, a feeling I certainly wasn't used to. Once Daryl was sure I wasn't going to hyperventilate again, he stood up, shaking his head as if he was lost as to what to do.

"Was I bit?" I asked again. Why was he avoiding the question? Why wasn't he answering me?

* * *

She wasn't bit. Daryl knew that without a doubt. He and Merle had made sure of it the second they closed the door to the damn cabin. They'd spent a good two hours inspecting every inch of her body to make sure she wasn't bit.

Daryl watched as she doubled over again, dry heaving violently, her thin body trembling with pain. He was at a loss of words. He'd never seen anyone sick for no reason before. Could it just be the concussion? Surely, when you considered her previous injury, that was no normal bump on the head. Had she been scratched? They'd dug a lot of dirt and rocks outta various scratches the night before, but they both summed it up to being road rash more than anything else. She'd been dragged a good handful of feet before the bike came to a stop afterall. Surely…

No. Daryl didn't give himself or her, any false hope. Something was clearly wrong and he had to do something about it. He refused to lose anyone else. He knelt next to her, taking her head in his hands. She was burning up. Her face was paler than he'd ever seen before. She was shaking, her muscles twitching every few moments. It bothered him. It made him feel caged, but he didn't know why.

"Need ya to lie down," he finally said, forcing her to lean back. She growned, her face twisting as another wave of nausea hit. He kept one hand on her face, hoping it would bring some sense of comfort, before lifting her shirt. Much to his dismay, her wounded side was slick with ooze and dried blood, a foul smell hitting him dead on the moment the air hit it.

"Shit," he hissed, his hand hovering over the wound. That explained everything.

Harleigh groaned again, this time, her body twitching more violently under his hands. Daryl brought his other hand to her face, trying to get her to talk to him, to tell him what hurt. But it was hopeless. She looked at him with terrified eyes, her lips going a terrifying shade of blue. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

Daryl didn't want to admit it, but he was scared. He was completely terrified. So he did the only thing he could think to do. He retrieved Merle and told Alana to go wait in the kitchen. She listened to the man with no hesitation, probably sensing that something wasn't right. When Merle saw the wound, his expression hardened.

"I've seen shit like this before," he said, his tone set. "An infection like this, it's gon' kill her before sunset if we don't act fast."  
"What can be do?" Daryl's voice was barely audible, but Merle could see the tears rising in his brother's eyes. Kid had it bad for this chick.  
"We uh…" he had a pained expression on his face as he studied the wound. He'd seen wounds like this back at Woodbury. Idiots who acted without thinking. "We have to cut the dead flesh away and hope it'll be enough."  
"Sure wish Hershel was here right now," Daryl sighed, reaching for the first aid kit.  
"Wait, ol' vet, he was on our side, right?" Merle asked, a doubtful expression on his face.  
"He's got one leg, man, he can't come out this far without anyone else. No one else is gon' care if she dies," Daryl said, his voice cracking. "We gotta do it ourselves."  
"Aw, shit, baby brother," Merle said, his only working hand gingerly pressing against Harleigh's forehead. "We gotta act fast 'fore the fever kills her."

Merle gave Daryl simple instructions as the younger of the two began hacking away at the dead, infected flesh and muscle. Daryl couldn't believe that it got no reaction from the woman. She was completely still, her eyes shut, her breathing coming in uneven gasps. Once all of the dead flesh was removed, Merle told Daryl to stitch it together as best he could. Daryl did so with careful hands. Once finished, Merle went up to the second floor of the cabin to search for something that could be used to dress the wound. A few minutes later, he returned with a clean sheet, which he quickly cut into bandages.

Once the wound was dressed, they waited. It was all they could do. Merle started to complain about how Harleigh was slowing them down, how the two of them should just leave with the kid and say fuck it, but Daryl would have none of it. He defended the woman until Merle finally backed off. The cabin grew quiet after that, the only sound coming from Harleigh's weak, raspy breaths.

* * *

Glenn looked over at Maggie, who was still pissed about the whole situation. She wouldn't say it out loud, but she made it very clear that she hadn't agreed with the group's decision. Carl, on the other hand, openly made his opinion known.

"Are you stupid?" he had screamed at his father, his hands balled into fists. "Sending them away like that? Are you fucking stupid?"  
"Enough!" Rick said tiredly. The entire situation had worn the ex-sheriff out. "Enough."  
"We did what we had to," Glenn said confidently earning him a hateful glare from Maggie.  
"We acted rashly," Hershel mused. "We should have taken more time to discuss this."  
"There wasn't time, Hershel, there's never enough time!" Rick's voice echoed off the walls of the cellblock.  
"I'm going after them," Michonne said lightly, her eyes narrow. "They're better people than your lot are." That was the most the mysterious woman had said since returning to the prison. Rick glared at her but made no move to stop her. Deep down, he knew it would have been pointless.

Michonne left without another word, taking to the trees with ease and skill. It didn't take long to pick up on their trail. It took her most of the day to reach the point where the motorcycle had collided with the van. Michonne's first instinct was that they were dead, or at least injured, but at closer inspection, she realized they must have made it out in one piece. Or so she hoped.

She looked up when something to her left started growling. She drew her katana, her stance guarded. She blinked when the familiar looking dog, drenched in blood, came limping towards her. The red reflector was gripped in her mouth. Michonne's attention shifted. Something wasn't right. She could feel it.

"Where are they?" she hissed to the dog, who looked at her with hopeful eyes before limping off into the trees. It was then that she saw the deep, open wound in the dog's side. There was no way that dog should still be standing. Michonne shook her head in amazement. Now she understood why Harleigh kept the dogs close. They wouldn't die until she did. She followed Misha through the trees, her pace quickening as she picked up a messy, easy to follow trail. Wherever they were, they had went there in a hurry. It made her even more uneasy to know that they had to travel on foot. Harleigh was still injured, though she masked it well, and that little girl couldn't go for more than a few hours at a time. As she followed the dog, her heart began to sink. There was no way they were still alive. The amount of blood on the path had to be an indication of that. She had a sick feeling she wasn't going to like what she stumbled upon.

* * *

Daryl was restless. He kept pacing the room, even after Merle told him off for it. He didn't care. All he cared about was Harleigh wakin up. If it hadn't been for Merle's loud mouth, none of them would have been in this situation to begin with.

A loud knocking stopped him mid-stride. He froze, his crossbow in his hand a moment later.

"Don't shoot," a familiar voice came. Merle and Daryl exchanged a look as a very tired, very unlikely guest opened the door. Michonne stepped in, followed by Misha, who was wheezing heavily.

"She can't be alive," Merle muttered in amazement, eyeing the dog carefully. "I watched her get killed."  
"Obviously not," Michonne shrugged. "She led me here, had this in her mouth." She showed them the reflector. Her eyes fell on Harleigh who was still out cold. "What the hell happened?"  
"Damn dog o'er there decided to play hero," Merle spat, ending his explanation with a rainbow of choice words. "Damn near killed her when she collided with the van."  
"Why's she still out? Head injury?" She asked before her eyes caught sight of the blood that covered the couch and stained the floor. "Was she…?"  
"She wasn't bit," Daryl assured her quickly, stepping towards Harleigh protectively. "She reopened an old wound, it got infected…" he looked so worn out when he looked at Harleigh's sleeping form. "Had to uh…cut the infection out."  
"She's been like this for how long?" she asked, moving to inspect Harleigh. Daryl stepped aside to give her room, but stayed close.  
"Almost a day and a half," he responded.  
"That long?" Michonne looked up at him with troubled eyes. "Dammit Daryl, ya shoulda brought her back to the prison."  
"How?" Merle asked sarcastically. "The van won't start and she sure as hell can't sit upright or hold on. The bike's banged up anyhow."  
"Harleigh," Michonne called softly, ignoring the older Dixon's remarks. "Leigh, you have to wake up." Michonne didn't know why, but she felt protective of the younger woman. She ran her hand across Harleigh's cheek, shocked by how warm she was.  
"She's burning up," she mused.  
"Again?" Daryl groaned. He looked terrified. His eyes were wide. Merle caught the look, which caused his heart to sink. He'd never seen his brother care about someone so much before.  
"I'm gonna go back and get help," Merle said suddenly, surprising both Michonne and Daryl.  
"Ain't such a good idea," she argued. "You're not exactly welcomed there. Neither is she," she sighed, sparing a look at the woman. "Where's the kid?"

Both men were on their feet without another word. "She was supposed to stay in the kitchen!" Merle groaned, surveying the empty room.  
"Where's Blade?" Daryl asked, looking for the large dog. Both brothers met up at the front door, clearly at a loss.  
"You didn't see her when you came in?" Daryl asked Michonne, who looked at them with a worried look.  
"No, but I know if Harleigh wakes up and that little girl is missing, you're both as good as dead," she said carefully. "Alana is all she's got to fight for these days."

"I'm right here," came the sound of a little girl's pleased voice. Both brothers turned quickly, nearly tripping one another to reach the little girl who just materialized out of thin air.

"Where the hell did you go?" Merle spat, sinking down to his knees so he could look at her. For the first time, Daryl saw something in his brother, something Harleigh had seen a long time ago. Merle had a soft spot for the little girl. Blade stood heroically at her side.  
"Back to the van," she said proudly. "Mom needs meds," she added, as if she were far older than she really was. She patted Blade's head. Tied to his back was a huge first aid kit.  
"Holy shit," Daryl breathed, kneeling beside the dog. He pulled the pack free, his eyes widening when he saw what was inside.  
"Mom left a note with our allergies inside," Alana said, flopping down on the floor like it was just any other sunny afternoon in paradise.

Sure enough, there was a note on top of everything in the bag. Alana was allergic to bees and strawberries, but they had a supple of epi pens in the bottom of the bag. Harleigh was allergic to penicillin and made sure to circle that fact countless times. Her instructions were to use cephalosporin instead. It said if there was none of that left to opt for the next highest dosage in anything that ended with a "rin". The note explained that the doctor in Woodbury had helped her figure it all out before she left.

Daryl smiled in spite of himself. Leave it to Harleigh to make sure she was prepared for anything. What he didn't understand was how they missed the kit when they were digging in the van the day before. Alana later explained to him that there was a compartment under the floor in the back of the van, where her mother kept their most important items, in case of a raid.

Michonne wiped down Harleigh's arm while Daryl dug out the antibiotics they needed. He handed the rig to Michonne, not entirely sure how to set it up. Michonne did so quickly, sticking the needle into Harleigh's vein before motioning for Merle to drag the coat rack over to serve as a pole for the drip. Once she was all set, Michonne smiled down at the woman, amazed by how smart she proved to be.

"She's smart," she mused, brushing her hair out of her face.  
"So's her kid," Merle muttered. "How'd you go off by your lonesome anyhow?"  
"Mom taught me to follow tracks," she shrugged. She looked proud. "Said I might need to know one day."  
"Your mom's a smart lady," Merle said at the same time Daryl said "Thank god."

Then they all waited. There was nothing else they could do. Alana seemed tired, so Merle settled down on the floor, letting the little girl rest comfortably against him. Blade made himself comfortable on the floor at their feet, his eyes never leaving the little girl, who seemed so much older than she really was.

Michonne retired to the armchair, her katana sitting across her lap. Her eyes were focused on the door, her stance ready for anything.

It was Daryl who was restless. He paced back and forth, his eyes never leaving Harleigh's body. He wanted to curse himself for letting her get this sick. He blamed himself for the little girl running off on her own. What if she'd been killed? How could he live with knowing it was because they were too busy tending to her mother?

 _Stop it, Daryl,_ the voice in the back of his head ordered him. Right now, Harleigh needed him to be strong. For her, for her daughter, and most of all, for himself.

* * *

"I can't believe you let her leave!" Carl said defensively, glaring at his father.  
"What did you want me to do?" Rick asked, he was sick and tired of his son's attitude.  
"You could have made her stay! You could have made them all stay!" He growled.  
"Enough, Carl," Hershel said quickly, attempting to end the argument that had been going on since the group left the prison. "Enough." Carl stomped off, his hands balled into fists. He was angry.

Maggie was rocking Judith, her eyes full of anger. She was hoping the little girl could calm her down, but she didn't. Instead, she fueled the fire even more. Daryl had cared so much about this little baby and now he'd never see her grow up. All because Rick was too goddamned stubborn to open his eyes.

Glenn knew Maggie was upset, but he didn't know what to say to her. He was right there along with the rest rallying for Rick to send Merle on his way. He found himself questioning his judgement. Maybe having Merle around wouldn't have been such a bad thing.

It was Carol who saw the oncoming danger first. A large herd was making its way to the fence, clearly attracted by something. She ran back into the prison, screaming for the others, but it was no use. Before she ever reached the cellblock, the first of the shots rang out.


	16. Chapter 15 - We Don't Turn On Our Own

The prison group barely had any time to react. They were under attack and they knew wholeheartedly who was to blame.

"Everyone, c'mon," Rick called, not missing a beat, much to the surprise of his friends. Glenn and Maggie ran out into the guard tower, trying to spot their attackers. It was hopeless. Woodbury wasn't stupid. They were tucked behind trees and bushes, using the walkers as decoys, making it almost impossible for anyone to get a clear shot. The fence was slowly caving under the weight of the added walkers.

"There's hundreds of them!" Maggie moaned, pressing her face into Glenn's shoulder.  
"I know," he muttered, instantly regretting his decision to side against the strongest members of their group.

Rick was silently cursing himself for banishing his most dangerous allies. He knew instantly that it would have been Harleigh, Merle, Michonne and Daryl in the midst of the fighting, fighting for him and his people, had he not stupidly sent them away. He looked into the distance, his eyes locking on something only he could see.

"Rick, what do you wanna do?" Carol called, her arms protectively wrapped around Carl's shoulders. The young boy looked at his father in disbelief. Rick said nothing, just stared vacantly into space. "Rick? Rick!"

* * *

I was overly aware of someone poking and prodding at my side. I groaned, my nose crinkling against the sensation. I began to wiggle under whoever's grip, trying to get my eyes to open.

"Harleigh?" a woman's voice called. I instantly froze. Something wasn't right. Why was a woman hovering? I forced my eyes to open, my hands instinctively looking for something to use as a weapon.  
"Easy, Leigh," Daryl's calm tone toothed my tension. I turned my head, catching sight of a worried looking Michonne, who had taken a step back, allowing me a chance to readjust. Daryl's hand clasped down on mine, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Hey, Leigh," he smiled.  
"Ouch," I muttered. The room spun ever so slightly. For the first time in what felt like a very, very long time, the sensation passed quickly, leaving me feeling more lucid than I had felt in ages.  
"Is she a'right?" Merle's voice asked. I turned my head, smiling at the older man who looked like he'd aged even more since the last time I saw him. He cocked his head before flashing his cynical grin. "Well, now that's a sight for sore eyes."  
"Shove it, Dixon," I croaked. My voice was hoarse, my throat as dry as the desert. A smile crossed my lips anyway. "How long was I out?"  
"Just over a week," Michonne said with a troubled look. "Thankfully, your little girl and her dog knew what to get to help bring you back to us."  
"Lana?" I asked, grinning at the sound of my daughter's innocent voice.  
"Mommy!"

The next thing I knew, tiny hands were around my neck, a very teary girl hugging me with all her strength.

"Lana," I smiled, kissing the side of her face.

The entire mood of the room seemed to change as I stood up carefully, an arm wrapped around Michonne's shoulders. She led me up to the bathroom, helping me keep from tearing the stitches all over again.

"You're tough, you know that?" she chuckled as she waited outside the door.  
"Uh-huh, been getting that a lot lately," I sighed. I spared a glance out the window, something catching my eyes. Something that didn't belong. "Shit!"  
"Are you okay? Need me to come in there?" Michonne's urgent tone called.  
"I'm fine," I said, turning all too quickly. My balance was still off and having spun so quickly, I wound up on the floor. I groaned, pressing my eyes shut long enough to steady my vision before clambering to my feet, my hands searching blindly for something to grip onto.

"Michonne?" I called, still swaying. Next thing I knew, I was on the floor again, this time with the mysterious woman standing over me, calling for help. Another minute passed. My vision returned to normal in time to see Daryl rushing through the door, his arms around me as he picked me up. "Stop!" I barked against his chest. "Look out the window and tell me what's wrong with that picture." Dumbfounded, Daryl did as he was told, all with me still in his arms. I hated feeling so useless. I knew it would take time for the antibiotics to fully fight off the infection, even longer for me to regain my strength completely, but in that moment, I felt completely helpless. I hated it.

"We're being watched," Daryl mused grimly. Michonne joined us at the window, a look of disgust forming on her face.

"Rick?" she asked, looking at Daryl and I.  
"No," I said carefully. I surveyed the scene again, wiggling out of Daryl's grip. I held onto the window frame this time, not willing to wind up on the floor again. "This is too careful," I looked at the way the bush was bent. No, this hadn't been Rick or anyone from the prison.  
"Governor?" she tried again. This time I nodded.  
"I'm almost sure of it," I said with a sigh. "But it could be a red herring," I countered. "A set up."  
"You mean…" Daryl started.  
"The prison might be in danger," I finished his thought with a grim nod. The three of us made out way back downstairs. We filled Merle in on the scene outside. Merle's face darkened at the news.

"Like hell if ya think we're going back," he grumbled.  
"We have to," I said carefully. "At least I do. I owe 'em that much."  
"Ain;t owe them shit Leigh, open your eyes, they let you walk just like that!" Merle spat. "'sides, even if you get there in one piece, whatcha gonna do? You can barely stand straight."  
"I know," I shrugged. "But so did you. An' I went back for you." I ignored the second part of his rant. He was right. Even if I made it there alive, I wouldn't be much help in a fight. Not like this.  
"You knew Merle was gonna be there," Daryl mused, looking at me with sad eyes. "When we went for Maggie and Glenn."  
"I'd hoped," I nodded. "Merle was one of the good guys there. Him and a handful of others. We just got luck 'nough his head wasn't up his ass when we got there."  
"Hey!" Merle growled.  
"Is for horses," I said out of habit. My mother used to say that to us kids every time we responded in a similar manner. I smirked up at the gruff, bitter man, the smile reaching my eyes, earning a grin from Michonne.  
"Enough small talk," Daryl said, quickly changing the subject. "We have to do something."  
"He's right. While I don't agree with Rick's decisions, any of their decisions really, we have to do something." I agreed. I wasn't feeling great, but I knew I could make the walk to the van if we decided to go.

We all seemed to be formulating a plan when Merle started going off about how we didn't owe them anything.

"Merle, we have to do something. It's not Rick or Glenn or Carol I'm worried about. It's the others. Judith, Carl, Beth. They're all kids still," tears welled in my eyes as I found myself right back at the first night I met the sour old man. "One thing I refuse to change 'bout who I was before all this started, is I won't stand by and let innocent children die."  
"Beth isn't a kid no more," Daryl pointed out.  
"Regardless," I shrugged. "I'm going back. You three? Do whatever your heart tells you to do. Just leave some sort of path. If I somehow come out of this alive, I'll track you down when it's over."  
"Ain't leaving you behind," Daryl said sourly. I glared at him but didn't fight him on it.  
"Then we're all going back?" I asked, glancing around the group. Merle grumbled under his breath about us being morons but didn't argue. I think he was too content with having Daryl back that he wouldn't willingly turn his back on him again. I nodded and forced myself to my feet. Daryl hovered out of habit while I retrieved the medical bag.

"Lana, I want you to make for the van, 'kay?" I said, my hand on her shoulder. "You have my pistol, only use it if you need to. It's a straight shot, Merle's gon' be right behind you."  
"But mom," she looked scared.  
"I'll go with her," Michonne said quickly.

I thought about it for a moment, then nodded. If I couldn't make it to the van on my own, there was no point in me going back to the prison. I patted Blade's head, silently signaling for him to stay with my daughter.

"Van won't start," Daryl reminded me softly.  
"I know," I nodded. Even though I was sick with that fever for nearly two weeks, I still remembered the night we landed in the cabin. "You'll take a look at it when we get to it. I gotta square something away first."  
"What?" Daryl asked softly. I watched as the group hurried to get everything packed before Michonne led Blade and Lana out the door, Merle close behind them. When we were alone, I turned to Daryl, my heart skipping a beat. That poor man looked exhausted beyond words.

"Listen, if something happens out there, your first concern is yourself and Merle and Alana, ya hear me?" I said softly. "Don't worry about me. Don't play hero. If I'm gonna die, I wanna die like this, not laying on a couch somewhere with y'all worrying about every breath I take."  
"Ya ain't gonna die," he argued, his voice shaking just slightly.  
"I sure hope you're right," I nodded. "But if you're wrong, you have to promise me something."  
"Anything," his features softened, the hardass exterior finally gone.  
"Promise me you'll look after Alana for me," I whispered, my voice hitching in my throat. "I need to know you'll be there for her."  
"Alright," he nodded. I nodded, satisfied with his answer. Together, we left the cabin and hurried through the trees. My pace faltered a few times, but I forced myself to keep going. We reached the van with no problems. Not a single walker crossed out path. Daryl started working on the motor as soon as we reached the van, leaving me to get the seating arrangement situated. I slid into the front seat while Michonne finished loading our bags into the back, Merle aiding Daryl in repairing the motor.

"Mom, are we gonna die?" Lana asked me softly. She looked terrified.  
"Lana, no, honey, we're not," I said firmly. "We're going to go see if the prison needs our help, then we'll be safe by nightfall," I vowed. I knew I shouldn't make her promises I couldn't keep, but how do to tell a child you're almost certain you won't live to see sunset?

Michonne climbed into the back seat, pushing Blade out of the way. The dog let out a low growl but didn't make any move to snap at her.

"How are you feeling?" she asked me, her face failing to mask the concern.  
"Better," I said truthfully. "Not 100 percent, but better."  
"If it comes down to a fight…" she let the statement trail off, overly aware that Lana was watching her with a frightened look.  
"Then we'll do what we have to do," I said firmly. "All for one, one for all."

Michonne nodded, understanding what I meant. After what felt like an eternity, the van purred to life. Merle grinned his sly grin before climbing in the back seat with Michonne and Lana. Blade growled at him softly, clearly annoyed by the tight seating arrangement.

"Blade, up front," I said. He jumped over the seat, his claws painfully digging into my thigh. I pushed him onto the floor in front of me, earning a mean growl and a snap from him in the process.

"What about Misha?" Lana asked softly.  
"Meesh is gone, honey," I said softly, turning so I could look at her. "She pushed herself to stay alive long enough to bring Michonne to us. She served her purpose."

Tears welled in her eyes as my words sank in. I pated her knee before focusing on the road in front of us. Daryl wasted no time, speeding down the road with little caution or care. The closer we got to the prison, the tenser the air in the van became.


	17. Chapter 16 - And They All Fall Down

We weren't even close to the prison when we saw the chaos unfolding in the distance. Several tunnels of smoke were filling the sky with dark, grey clouds. The amount of walkers had tripled. The herd had the road packed so tightly, it was impossible to even consider getting through the thick of it with the van.

Daryl slammed on the breaks, veering the van into the trees, nearly throwing the rest of us from our seats in the process.

We had to act fast, otherwise the van would have been our tomb. I threw a panicked look at Merle, who quickly had Alana out of her seat and on his lap. I reached around and grabbed the first aid kit, not willing to leave it behind. Other than that, we all grabbed the first weapons our hands could reach before making a run for it.

I didn't get far before I felt the now familiar sensation of blood flowing freely from my side. We had been split up by the walkers who were now turning their attention to the smell of fresh blood. I groaned and threw the duffle bag across my back, reaching carelessly for a branch I could pull myself up on. I used all my strength to get high enough to feel relatively safe as the walkers piled up below me. Breathless, I looked around, trying to spot the rest of them.

Michonne had been closest to me and was now making her way back, her katana taking out the walkers with ease, but they were quickly replaced by the countless others in the herd. I riffled through the bag, trying to find the one weapon that might actually help us. To my amazement, it was right where it had been for months now. Three grenades, which I had stolen from Woodbury before leaving the first time.

When Michonne made it to the tree where I was perched, I spared her a knowing look. She saw the grenade in my hand, a single nod offered before she ducked behind the tree, waiting for the explosion. I removed the pin and slammed my thumb down on the lever. I tried to make out where the brothers and Alana had taken off to, but the walkers were too thick to see through. I took a deep breath, hoping for the best as I used all my strength to throw the grenade into the midst of the herd. A moment later, the explosion went off, sending me flying from the tree. Thankfully, I landed in a patch of leaves and didn't feel the impact at all. Any other time such a fall would have been amusing, but that there, nothing was amusing.

I was on my feet the second Michonne reached me. She threw her arm around my waist, having seen the blood pooling from my side. Together, we made for the prison in hopes we'd be able to salvage whatever was left. Alana's shrill scream brought us both to a halt before we'd even made it a hundred feet.

"Alana!" I called out, fear rising in my chest. Her screams continued to our right. We took off without sparing a word to one another, each lost in our own survival mode. When we reached the little girl, I was stunned to see Merle standing over her protectively, his eyes wild as he swiped and stabbed at the oncoming walkers.

Michonne and I made quick work, clearing a path to the pair with ease, both skilled and in our element. Michonne kept the walkers back while I turned my attention to Alana.

"Lana, talk to me, love," I said softly. I kept close to Michonne, overly aware of how dangerous our situation was. Alana looked terrified but didn't say a word. Her eyes were locked on Merle, her sole protector. Merle was covered in blood and dirt. His face was pale and emotionless. It was the first time I got a real good look at the man the prison had been so eager to banish.

"Merle?" I called softly, earning no response from the older man. "Merle!"

Merle said nothing, just turned and looked at me with distant, faraway eyes. I saw panic creeping up on his face. Then he did the last thing I expected him to do. He lunged at Alana, his knifed hand nearly decapitating her in the process.

"Stop!" I roared, throwing myself at him, throwing my entire weight against him, causing him to wheel away from my daughter.  
"She's bit!" he yelped, shoving me off. I grabbed his ankle, causing him to slam to the ground again.  
"No she wasn't!" I cried out. Merle shoved me off of him viciously, his weight causing me to hit the ground rolling. I saw stars, the wind knocked out of me. Then I heard Alana scream.

I got to my feet, dizzy and unaware of what danger we had put ourselves in. Merle stood off a ways, blood dripping from his bladed hand.

"No," I moaned. I collapsed next to Alana, who was still very much alive, a deep cut piercing her chest. "Lana, no, please, no," I begged. Michonne shouted something, her katana pressed against Merle's throat. Alana's cries called the walkers to us, but I made no move to fend them off. Daryl's hands landed on my shoulders, causing me to look up, if only for a moment.

"We have to move," he said, his voice as broken as I felt. I looked down at Alana, who was staring at me with terrified eyes.  
"Mommy, I'm gonna die," she whispered.  
"Like hell you are," I said sternly. I scooped her up, ignoring my own injuries as I pushed ahead of the group. I overheard Michonne threaten Merle before she trailed behind us, providing me with cover as I half carried, half dragged my dying daughter through the field.

"Harleigh," Daryl's tone turned from soft to urgent. I glanced down at Alana, suddenly aware of how heavy she felt.  
"Lana?" I called softly. I knelt down, pressing my hand to her throat. No pulse. "Lana, wake up, c'mon now, you gotta fight. You gotta fight love."

The moan. I will never forget the moan that escaped her lips. When her eyes opened, they were filled with nothing but hungry vacancy. She reached for me, her jaw gnashing, her hands twisting in my shirt. She would have killed me had Michonne not been watching. One swift movement and Alana was gone.

I scooped her up in my arms, cradling her limp body against mine, sobbing bitterly. I let my hands trace her body, no sign of a bite anywhere on her tiny frame. The only wound was the deep slice across her throat. Merle had killed her out of cold blood. I wanted him dead. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to burn in hell with everyone who ever hurt me. I hated him.

* * *

"Is that Michonne?" Maggie cried, looking out through the down fate. They were all tucked safely in the prison, having cleared out the walkers that had pushed their way in after the Governor's attack.  
"Is it?" Beth asked, shielding her eyes against the sunlight.  
"It is!" Maggie said happily. "Rick! Rick, they're back!" She called out, running towards the entrance of the prison.  
"Maggie, hold on!" Glenn called after her. He hurried after her.

It didn't matter. Michonne was leading the way through the walkers, her katana flying in every direction to fend off the dangers that surrounded them. Daryl led Harleigh through the mess of bodies. She had an emotionless look on her face as she walked, her body rigid, her skin ice cold to the touch. Daryl spared one glance back at his crazed brother. He'd wanted to leave the troubled man in the woods to rot, but even with her heart broken, Harleigh told them to let him come along. Daryl admired her loyalty, but he couldn't understand why she still wanted him around. He could only assume it was so she could end him herself when she finally realized what he had done.

Once the exhausted group made their way into the prison yard, they began to take in the damage. As Harleigh had predicted, Michonne knew it was the work of the Governor. She took a protective step in front of Harleigh, blocking the stunned woman's view.

They didn't need to wait when they reached the front of the prison. Maggie had the door open faster than Glenn could close it, her stern expression causing him to back down. Maggie pushed past Michonne and hugged Daryl in spite of herself. This caused the tense redneck to flinch sideways, losing his grip on Harleigh's arm. Without him supporting her, her knees gave way and she sank into the bloody soil. Daryl growled at Maggie and pushed her aside, reaching for Harleigh, who stared blankly ahead, her eyes showing no signs of the life she had only moments before.

"What happened?" Maggie asked, her eyes wide as she looked from Daryl, back to Merle who stood a good distance away, his face vacant.  
"We could ask you the same," Michonne said quickly, before anything was said about Merle's uncanny outburst. Harleigh didn't move, not even when Daryl reached for her arms. She was staring off into the distance, her eyes trailing something no one else saw right away.

"Carol," she moaned, her eyes flashing with an uncertain spark as she allowed Daryl to haul her to her feet.  
"What?" he asked her, following her gaze. When his eyes trained on the object of her statement, he felt like he was punched in the stomach. All the air left his lungs as he watched the woman he had spent so long protecting, stumble towards them, her eyes wide and hungry, her face as pale as Harleigh's, her body covered in blood.

"Carol," Harleigh said again, this time her voice dripping with so much hate, you would have thought she was the one who killed Alana. She pulled away from Daryl, her knife drawn before he could protest. "C'mere Carol, that's right, come on, get me," she spat louder, leading the woman away from her friends. The woman's moans were heard by all as Harleigh led her into the middle of the field, her hands at her side. Carol lunged at her, causing Daryl to push forward, only to stop when he saw she had the broken woman under control. Carol went for her throat, but Harleigh had foreseen the attack. She grabbed Carol's thin arms and pushed her back with so much force, Daryl was actually impressed. "That all you got?" she hissed as she circled the woman, her eyes ablaze with anger. "Come get me," she spat. Carol charged her again, this time knocking her off balance. Harleigh was smart though. She took the moment to get herself square with the snarling beast. As soon as Carol charged her again, her knife plunged into her skull with a sickening crunch. This caused the older woman to slump against her chest, pushing her to the ground. Harleigh made no move to break the fall. She just laid there, the corpse of the woman who hated her weighing her down.

"Go get her," Michonne whispered to Daryl. "She's going into shock, today's been too much for her," she spared a glance at Merle. "Too much for all of us."

Without need for anything else to be said, Daryl quickly went over to Harleigh, freeing her of the weight of Carol's limp body. He didn't hesitate as he scooped up the bloody, broken woman into his arms, holding her close to his chest. Maggie bit back a sob as she watched, her eyes full of tears. The rest of the prison group had filed out of the prison, each wearing a look of sadness on their faces. All except Rick, who seemed to be channeling Harleigh's pain, his eyes locked in the distance, as if he were watching someone who no one else could see.

No one dared to speak as Daryl carried Harleigh into the prison, taking her right to Hershel, who began to access her wounds silently. Daryl slumped against the wall, rubbing his face with his hands, looking utterly exhausted. It was a wonder he had even kept his head, given everything that had happened. Something about Harleigh brought out the good in his heart, despite years of damage that left him cold and vicious. Without realizing it, he silently promised himself to tell her how he felt. She needed him. She needed him just as much as he needed her and that very thought scared him to his core. He had never needed anyone before, but Harleigh…she was different. He just knew.


	18. Chapter 17 - Tell Me Why

Hershel had demanded that all debates were put on hold until I was well enough to sit through them, both physically and emotionally. He had restitched my side, in hopes that this time around they would hold. He'd put me back on the antibiotics, afraid that I would get another infection. After several painful days, I was finally strong enough physically to sit up without needing help.

Beth was pacing outside of my cell, a crying Judith in her arms. I looked up from my journal, my heart skipping a beat. Hershel was sitting beside me, since he wanted to ensure I didn't try to get out of bed before he gave me the all clear.

"Beth," Hershel scolded, watching me closely to see how I reacted. Up until then, no one dared to let the infant near me, in fear that it would send me over the edge. I surprised both of them by looking at Beth with hopeful eyes.

"Can I hold her?" I asked softly. Beth looked to her father before handing the crying child to me. I held her close to my chest, humming softly. Within moments, the little girl stopped fussing, her eyes locking on mine. Daryl watched from across the cell, ready to get up at a moment's notice. I leaned back, letting my back rest against the cool wall as I cradled the infant close.

"You're going to save us all one day, aren't you, lil' ass kicker?" I cooed. "You're going to be one badass little girl with all these people raising you." I kissed the top of her head, letting the smell of a young baby seep into my nose. It brought me back to a simpler time. I glanced up to see everyone watching me like a hawk. My vision blurred, but quickly came back into focus as soon as my eyes locked on the baby's. "You're innocent and pure and good, don't lose that, you hear? You can be strong and fierce and brave, but you have to keep your heart." I hugged her close for a moment before passing her back to Beth.

I slowly raised to my feet, which earned me a scornful look from Daryl.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Hershel scolded, his rough hand on my arm.  
"I need to sort something out," I said softly. "I won't be gone long. My wound is healing better than any of us hoped. It's gonna be months before any of muscle heals. This is as good as I'm gonna get for a while."  
"You aren't going no where alone," he said sternly. "I'm not worried about your side, I'm still concerned about your head."  
"I'll bring Michonne, and my head's as good as it'll ever be," I said with a nod. This seemed to be enough for the old vet. I saw Daryl look at me with sad eyes, almost as if it hurt him that I didn't want him to come with me. I said nothing, just walked out of the cell, glad to finally be allowed to walk.

"Michonne?" I called up to her. She was perched in a chair near the staircase. "Can I borrow you?"

She hurried up the stairs, a concerned look on her face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes icy as always.  
"What did Rick do with Merle?" I asked, my voice catching on his name.  
"Rick didn't no nothing," Daryl scoffed. He had followed me out of the cell afterall. "I knocked his sorry ass out and left him in the farthest cell down there to rot."  
"Good," I nodded. "Stay here and get some rest, you look exhausted," I said gently, sparing a tender look in his direction. "I won't be long."  
"What're ya gonna do?" he asked hoarsely. He was torn.  
"I'm going to kick a dog while he's down," I shrugged. I grabbed my knife from where it sat on the table before starting down the stairs, my free hand gripping the railing tightly. My legs were still unsteady, mostly from being on bedrest for so long. My side ached, but I knew that pain wouldn't be going away any time soon, Daryl had done a number on the muscles in my side when he was cutting the infection out. It was sure to leave an awful scar once it was fully healed.

"You don't have to do this right now," Michonne said gently as she followed me past the stares of the very people who forced me away in the first place. "It can wait till you're better…till you know, you come to terms with everything?"  
"No it can't, Michonne. I know Merle. I know how much he cared about that little girl. I know he wouldn't kill her out of cold blood, or so I thought. But I checked her body. She wasn't bit. I need to know what happened out there. I need to know why I will never see that little girl grow up, why I have to bury my child. Another child. I need to know _why_." I fought the tears that were threatening to fall.  
"Okay," she nodded simply, not daring to push the issue.

We hurried past the group only stopping when we were right in front of Merle's cell. He was handcuffed to the bed, an explainable expression on his worn, troubled face. I nodded at Michonne, who had gotten the key off Rick in passing. She unlocked the cell and waited for me to enter before following behind me. I knelt beside the crazed man I had trusted with the most important person in my life. My entire body went cold just looking at him.

"Merle," I said softly, my tone flat. He looked up at me, his blue eyes shining with fresh tears.  
"I didn't wanna do it," he whispered. For the first time since meeting him, Merle seemed weaker than anyone I had met before. His tone was genuine, like he actually meant it. He reminded me of a broken dog that'd been kicked too many times. "I didn't wanna, I had to," he sobbed.  
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely over a whisper. "Why Merle?"  
"She was bit," he insisted. This sent me over the edge. I knew without a doubt that she wasn't bit. I saw red.  
"She wasn't bit, you stupid, selfish, fool!" I screamed. "She wasn't bit!"

Merle said nothing, just stared at me with wide, frightened eyes. I felt Michonne back up, calling for someone. I didn't pay her any mind. My eyes were locked on the man who took everything from me.

"She was not bit."  
"Harleigh, I swear…I…" Merle didn't get a chance to finish. I lunged at him, throwing my entire weight behind the blow. I hit him over and over again, not stopping when I felt my knuckles pop. Not stopping when Maggie's urgent cries begged me to. Not even when Daryl tried to call me back. I hit him over and over again until I ran out of steam. I pulled back, his face a bloody mess. He didn't try to defend himself. He just looked at me with sad, pathetic eyes.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled through busted lips. "I'm so, so sorry."  
"Rot in hell Merle Dixon. Just you wait. I'll end you my damn self, when you least expect it," I growled.

Daryl tried to grab my arm, but I yanked it away from him. Michonne followed behind me as I stormed out of the cell, her face drawn, though there was no judgement in her eyes. I couldn't bear to look back at the man who had so heartlessly murdered my child. I knew deep in my heart I would never be able to forgive Merle for what he did, but I wasn't a murderer. I wouldn't be able to kill him myself. I wasn't like him.

I found myself hating Daryl for being related to the brutal man. I hated him for being the reason I trusted the man so damn much with the wellbeing of my child. I hated him for being the one person I needed more than anyone else in the world.

When I finally reached the cell I once shared with my beautiful, bright little girl, a little girl that in a few short months had filled the void losing my biological children had left behind, a little girl who mended my broken heart, I collapsed onto the lower bunk, the world slipping away around me. The shock finally sank in. I felt absolutely nothing. A blissful numb that kept all of the fear and pain and heartache at bay. There was no way to put into words what I was feeling, because I felt nothing at all. Not when Hershel demanded to know what was going through my head. Not when Daryl tried to coax me back to him. Not when Glenn threatened to put a bullet in Merle's skull. Nothing could shake the dark cloud that had fallen around me. Around us. Nothing would ever be the same again.


	19. Chapter 18 - Better Than Lies

The days that followed were painstakingly long. Hershel assured me that my side was as healed as it would get for a while, that the muscles would take months, if not longer, to fully heal, if they ever did. The stitches had finally held and the wound was finally closed enough for him to feel confident with me being up and about. He was more concerned about my mental health. Ever since returning to our cell, I had pushed everyone away. I wouldn't let anyone get too close, in fear I would lose them too.

Daryl remained patient through it all. Every time I cursed him out, every time I told him I hated him, every time I spaced out and stopped talking to everyone, he stayed close, always there when the tears fell, always there when the nightmares woke me up screaming. Daryl was loyal in a way I had never known before.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he said softly as we made our way to the cafeteria, where Rick was holding a meeting. "You can sit this out, they'll understand."  
"I want to know what he wants to do about Merle," I said sourly. "I deserve a say in that."

Daryl said nothing as we made our way to the center of the room. Sad looks passed around the group. Since our return, everyone had made it known how much they had regretted their decisions. Naturally though, who wouldn't? We'd lost some great people when shit hit the fan, no thanks to poor leadership decisions.

"Before we get into the matter at hand, I want to speak in favor of the entire group," Rick said slowly, his eyes training on Michonne, Daryl and me. "I'm sorry."  
"Apologies aren't going to change what is, Rick," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "If we had been here, maybe we could have prevented the losses we took that day. Maybe we wouldn't be overran by walkers right now. Maybe, just maybe, we'd all be okay."  
"Easy," Daryl warned in my ear.  
"You're right," Rick said cautiously. "As for Carol, you weren't here. You don't know what happened in her last moments."  
"Excuse me?" I asked, not truly caring, but curious all the same.  
"Carol would still be alive, if it weren't for an argument that happened right after we started getting attacked," Glenn said cautiously.

" _Rick! Glenn!" she shouted, running through the twisting hallways that led through the prison to the cellblock they called home. Her heart raced in her chest as she slammed through the unlocked gate, her eyes frantically searching for the leader of the group.  
"Rick!" She called again.  
"We know," Glenn said as he approached her. "Did you see who did this?"  
"The Governor?" Maggie suggested, loading her rifle quickly.  
"I don't think he'd attack in broad daylight," Carol shook her head. "Merle and Harleigh maybe?"  
"No," Glenn said sternly. "There's no way Daryl would let them do this."  
"Unless he turned against us too," she hissed. "That Harleigh girl had him wrapped around her little finger."  
"How can you even say that?" Maggie spat. "They're not killers Carol!"  
"How do we know that?" she retorted. "Harleigh was able to convince Daryl to leave, he told me so himself!"  
"What?" Rick asked, coming into the conversation a little late. "Carol, are you insane? We're the reason they left – the reason Daryl left. He would have left whether or not Harleigh was here!"  
"Don't you see it?! This is exactly what they want! They want us at each other's throats!" She cried. "They want to weaken us so the Governor can take over the prison!"  
"You really are a moron, Carol," Glenn scoffed. "There's no way they're to blame. I'd rather put my money on the Governor than our own!"  
"They aren't a part of us anymore!" she screamed. She advanced, her hands twitched into fists, her eyes wild.  
"Back up, Carol," Rick said, his tone bitter, his eyes glossed with emotions that no one could understand. _

_Then it happened. Carol sprang at Rick, her fists colliding with the side of his head. He responded by doing something he never would have done, not in his wildest dreams. He hit her. Hard. She flew back, her eyes wide. Without another word, she turned and ran from the cellblock. No one followed. They were all too stunned to move. As another bomb went off, they all snapped back to their senses, aware of the danger that loomed over them. Carol could wait. Protecting the prison was their first priority._

 _By the time the Governor's men pulled out, leaving behind a large herd of walkers and a lot of carnage in their wake, it was too late. Glenn found her first. Her body was riddled with cuts and half of her face was gone, but there was no mistaking the scrawny woman. She turned on him, but he didn't have the courage to end the woman's undead life._

 _No one had the courage to. Not until Harleigh took on the task of ending her, once and for all._

"You mean to tell me she honestly thought we were behind the attack?" Daryl growled, his hands balled into fists.  
"She was convinced Harleigh and Merle were still working for the Governor," Glenn said with a shake of his head.  
"I never worked for the Governor, let's get that straight right now," I said slowly. "But my side is proof that she was insane. I couldn't move, much less plan a full scale attack. But what doesn't make sense is why you were attacked here, but the cabin wasn't touched. It's not like we covered our tracks."  
"What do you mean?" Maggie asked.  
"A…Ala…" it hurt like hell to say her name. I took a deep breath. "My daughter was able to use our trail to find the van and get back to the cabin no problem," I said carefully. "There's no way we weren't being watched, we were aware of that the day the attack took place. What I don't understand, is why we weren't attacked too."  
"You're too valuable to him," Michonne said cautiously. She'd been quiet the entire time. "He kept telling Andrea how he needed to get you back, that you were the one weapon he needed most. He probably didn't want to risk you dying. You and Merle. He's pissed you got him outta there."  
"Well he can have Merle back," I scoffed. "And I never was, nor ever will be anyone's freaking weapon."  
"That leads me to our next point," Rick said, changing the subject, having seen the look that crossed my face.

At that point, I was exhausted. Even though my physical wounds were healing, my emotional ones weren't. My head grew fuzzy with a fog that rarely left most days as Rick went on to explain how we needed to repair the damage the attack caused. I wasn't aware he was talking to me until Glenn shot me a troubled look.

"You still with us Harleigh?" he asked gently. This caused Daryl to grab my hand, squeezing softly.  
"Huh? Yeah, I'm good," I responded quickly.  
"Rick asked you what you wanted to do about Merle," Daryl said softly. "I told him it was your decision."

I took a moment to consider what he said. I hated Merle. He had taken my daughter from me in cold blood. He was the reason so many things happened, so many things that could have been avoided. In the same breath, I hated his brother. I hated Daryl because I loved him, yet I was too damn scared to tell him that. I hated Daryl for being in the woods that day. I hated Daryl for saving us when we made a break for the prison. I hated Merle for kidnapping Glenn and Maggie and leading to this whole mess that costs us so much.

In that moment, I hated everyone. The rage that filled my heart caused me to see nothing but red. It was then that an idea came to mind, a wicked, cruel idea that left me feeling completely numb.

"I have an idea," I said, a cynical grin forming on my lips.


	20. Chapter 19 - Avenge The Broken Hearted

" _Never lose your heart. Never lose your compassion and care. You've been through hell and back since your momma died, but you honor her, you hear me? You honor her and you keep that part of you that makes you different. That makes you good. You gotta keep that part alive. This world's too damn cold already, it needs people like you to keep the balance."_

My uncle's voice echoed in my head as I looked around the room of people, people who barely knew me, people who left an impossibly hard decision in my hands. People who were waiting patiently for me to explain my plan.

"Give me twenty-four hours," I said softly. I stood up, taking a deep breath, before running my hand over the damaged muscles in my side. "Merle Dixon will pay for what he did to my daughter, but we are not savages, we are not like Woodbury. I'll take care of it."  
"What's your plan, Harleigh?" Daryl asked softly. He looked at me with sorrowful eyes.  
"Your brother and I used to joke about our ideal ways to leave this world," I said softly. "I can honor that. I can give him the death he wanted."

Daryl gave a knowing look. His brother was an ex-junkie, forced only to get sober when the world went to shit. Once an addict, always an addict. He knew as well as I how Merle wanted to go out.

"What's she talking about?" I heard Rick ask Daryl as I walked away, not needing to be present for any other part of the meeting. Blade joined me as I walked slowly to our cell, my hand resting softly on his back.

"Blade, the world's gone to shit," I told him softly. "You're all alone now too, I know how that feel." He whined softly, nudging my hand with his big, furry head. "I just wish things were different, ya know?"

I made it to the cell I now shared with Daryl. As much as I didn't want to admit it, having him close gave me some comfort. It reminded me that I was still human. I rummaged through my medical bag, finding the syringe I was looking for. I found the white powder, a tiny little baggie that I had been saving for an emergency. Let's just say I had connections after the world went to shit and once found myself making an insane trade, just in case I ran across someone who had something I needed in exchange for something I'd never need.

I peeked out of my cell, before settling in to cook the powder down. Once it was in the syringe, I grabbed an old leash and made my way down to the end of the cellblock, where Merle laid haphazardly on the bunk. Rick had given me the keys to the cell before leaving the meeting.

"Rise and shine, asshole," I growled as I opened the cell. Merle's knife had been disconnected from his stump, leaving him with just the metal guard. While he could still hurt me if he tried, he posed no real danger.  
"Harleigh?" he squeaked. He sounded so innocent. It made me sick.  
"Remember the conversation we had ages ago? How if you could pick how you died, you'd go out higher than a kite?" I asked bitterly.  
"Yes ma'am. Sure would give for a fix right 'bout now," he said with a chuckle. The drug addict in him still there. Always waiting for a moment to get that much needed fix in all this chaos.  
"Glad to hear ya say that," I murmured.  
"You're awfully nice tonight," he purred. Merle truly had gone crazy.  
"Yeah, reckon I am," I rolled my eyes. I took out the pair of handcuffs I had found lying on the table with our weapons. I took Merle's good hand and slammed it against the metal frame of the bed, quickly securing him to the bed.  
"Ohh, kinky," he purred. I again remembered how much I hated this man. I said nothing as I straddled him, only so I had leverage once he started fighting me. I heard someone outside the cell, but my mind was already made up. I pulled out the leash and tied it just above Merle's elbow on the other arm.  
"Not many of us get a chance to die the way we want anymore," I said, my voice dripping with venom. "You're lucky I still have an ounce of humanity left in my cold, tortured heart."  
"Whatcha gonna do? Try an' poison me?" Merle growled. His eyes flickered with fear for a split second. "No," I said truthfully. "But it ain't gon' be pleasant. S'least I could do was make you comfortable."

I pulled the needle out as soon as his vein bulged. I stuck it into his arm and released his drug of choice into his vein. I sat back for a moment as his body tensed before it relaxed, a look of bliss on his face.

"Harleigh, thank you," he purred almost incoherently. "Thank you."  
"Don't thank me," I growled. "Tonight, you die!"

I pulled out my sharp hunting knife and slowly began working my way across his body. Every cut, every slice, every stab gave little comfort. My heart was shattered. My world had fallen apart around me, but for a moment, I got to take it all out on the man that took so much from me. I didn't kill him straight off, I played with him. I made him suffer. He fought, he fought so damn hard I almost gave up. Once I got bored with the knife I started punching him, over and over until his face was nothing but a swollen, bloody mess.

"You took my daughter from me, for no good reason!" I screamed as I landed another punch at his face. He kicked me off him. Damn, I had forgotten he could use his feet. I landed against the wall. With a grunt, I was back on him, this time raking my nails through the map of cuts that riddled his body. "You ruined everything! You took everything from me! If it weren't for your goddamned brother, I would have made this so much worse for you!"  
"You're a monster," he spat. He struggled some more, but the blood loss was slowly killing him. "You're sick."  
"Coming from the man who killed an innocent child, in front of her mother no less!" I spat angrily. I went for his eyes, but those damn blue eyes, the eyes he shared with the man I was so insanely in love with, made me hesitate. This gave him enough chance to throw me off him again.  
"You weren't her mother! You aren't able to be a mother! You're a monster! I mighta been the one to slit her throat, but you're the reason she's dead! You killed her! You killed her Harleigh! You couldn't leave well enough alone. You had to play hero, you sacrificed her for the good of these people! Told Daryl we shoulda let you die. Woulda saved us all this mess!" he spat angrily. "Shoulda…" his voice trailed off. His words left me feeling cold, completely numb to what I did next.

I grabbed the chair that sat across the cell and threw it at the wall, breaking off a sharp piece of wood before plunging it deep into his scrotum. Merle howled with pain before sinking back on the pillow. He wasn't dead, but he would be soon.

"You need to stop her," I heard someone say from outside the cell. I turned, blood dripping down my face. I would have said something, but in that moment, Blade bounded into the cell, his teeth bared. He flew onto the bed, his teeth tearing at Merle's throat, ending him long before I had a chance to react.

"Damn dog," I muttered. I sank to my knees, the adrenaline wearing off, leaving me exhausted and shattered. Blade came to me, his face covered in blood. He pressed his head to my chest, before letting out a low growl, indicating it was time to go. I stood just in time to watch Merle turn. He growled, what was left of his jaw gnashing. He reached for me, but someone else had been watching, waiting for the moment to make their presence known. A single arrow flew into the room, plunging itself deep into Merle's skull with a sickening crunch. I turned and saw Daryl, pale as a ghost, staring at me blankly. I wanted to comfort him, but I was in no position to do so. Instead, I pushed past him, my hands still balled into fists. I grabbed my bow off the table and clicked my tongue. Blade followed beside me, obedient and loyal as ever. Without a word to anyone, I took off running, letting the cool air within the halls of the prison calm the churning in my stomach.

Once outside, it wasn't hard to find the breach in the fence that the dogs had been using as a makeshift doggie door. I was small enough to push my way under it. Blade followed, nudging me every few moments to remind me that it wasn't safe.

I didn't care. As the walkers surrounded me, I fought them off, letting every single emotion pour out into an angry, animal-like attack.

Then I saw them….

* * *

 **A/N - This chapter was a little graphic, but I did my best to tone it down so it was reasonable to post under our current rating. That being said, if you've read any of the comics, the one where Michonne gets back at the Governor in particular, you'd realize that this definitely isn't too outlandish.**

 **As always, reviews, follows and faves are always appreciated! This is pretty much where WTWE breaks away from Behind The Brick Walls for good. While there will be some similarities, from here on out, it's far more original and tailored to fit a longer, better story!**


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